



LIBRARY QF CONGRESS, 


Shelf 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 




















'....J. -.vi'^^.r'.- ; .. ■ :'.i' . • 

: '■■ .V . . : '■ ■ ;> ■ 


V' ! ' ui/. ..) 

hf-- . ' >.' ' .V' . ■'• r;|*"-:'- ‘ .’, v ■ . • . 






r •■ » 


■•-■ .*1 T r:. • 5 \.. •* ’• 


■ ■ tj.' 'It ■* i-' ■ ■ • • _ - •*' '■ , ‘ ^ • 1' 

IV- . *'.• •'•-.'■- -f '• : 4 '^',^'* 

» «V t '«*•*■ '* *■ •«<*. ->-^V 



• 7 I s’ '..• tv,' ; ... . '• ' 

.•■ •'. 4 ^ V.. ' V ■:* 

' e * • ••■' •-- 


/ . 


( .■ 


•#■ 


'• 1 ■ 


;) 

■ »'.■ : 


s; 


. { 



s 




' : \ 


• ^ 


* ‘j f 




'V, 

' ■* ->"''■ -''I’ - ;• ? . "■■,•- '.M ''>•><-1 i* » .’■• ■ 


.. ^ 


1 


/* 

t. 




1 ' 'i 



, < 


j fw'* r^=- ■'£•■'- I *' . ■ 

• -- 


It 

ri- 




-t ' * 


'• I 


A 


L' 

9 


4 • 

• 












> 




; ,* 


f . 


'I r* 


' ^ * { r ■«'■' • 'v..f. -• 'i* ' •sTx.:''' ^ ^ iJKya 

‘ ‘ ■ ••' »-v."+‘ 4 .r>*'' ^■'^ J s' 

■''‘i. •>:■' •* 'c'-, •' • V, ' ■ ^■" ' ... ■- ■ ■ .■; 


Mj 


t > 


V / 7 l^« K * ^ 

AfFSftu 'V, ..*i' J • 

^ * 

'•.* v-cy^ 4 -V'- ••• .• V • '• 


'•,; -ff .j 


■■■•] ■'j ''i. 1 

!i? 


•. ’ > ' V • ( r' • 


^ s 


* 

I , ' 






• -' - > r . ■'.. 

r-it 4 t • V »'• 


• . .y 




\ 

.;*• ». 


♦ ' 


1 “^ 


k • > ' 


.. ,r- ■• ■ •■; - 

• - •. N .f* 


.Wf*'. 


‘ . - . ■ .■ . ‘ 

' - : -vT . 

KT 4 • , -. -k*.^ , . , ' * 





A _ ■ 


- • ‘I. '* w' / *' .! ^ ^ i ■■■'' A> . 


t «' 


•■- :• ' , ■•> 

-.v'- 

•I ‘ 


y •■' 


-* - i”.!#' •' ’ • • •• 

' *' > . •■ ^••■ 

_ . ... - ■ ■- . 

• ‘ ' ,. '-V -.w . -., • 

• •*..' , . ’ ’ ■ * ■' * 

; v": •'• -:*• •.; • 


»■ , ' 


vr 


) » . 


--. .'.y j>ir^,, 


J. -, 


















J»A> 


Sphinx of the Red House 


By MARY E. BRYAN 


[FIRST HAIiF.] 


If TO 27 VANOEWATEf\ 3^ 



fl 










Th e Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, Issued Triweekly. By subscription $50 per annum. 
ViV^ted ia«6 by George Munro— Entered at the Post Office at New York at second class rates— Sept. 16. 188 





THE KING OF STORY PAPERS. 


THE 

NEW YORK FIRESIDE COMPANION. 

A PAPER FOR THE HOME CIRCLE. 

PURE, BRIGHT AND INTERESTING. 


THE FIRESIDE COMPANION numbers among its contributors the 
best of living fiction writers. Its Detective Stories are the most absorbing 
ever published, and its specialties are features peculiar to this journal. 

A Fresh Sermon by Rev. T. De Witt Talmage is 
Published in Every Number. 


THE FIRESIDE COMPANION is the most interesting weekly paper 
publisheu in the United States, embracing in its contents the best Stories, 
* the best Sketches, the best Humorous Matter, Random Talks, Fashion 
Articles, and Answers to Correspondents, etc. No expense is spared to 
get the best matter. 

Among the contributors to The Fireside Companion are Mary E. 
Bryan, Lucy Randall Comfort, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller, Laura Jean 
Libbey, “ Old Sleuth,” Charlotte M. Braeme, author of “ Dora Thorne,” 
Mary C. Freston, Annabel Dwight, Clyde Raymond, Kate A. Jordan, 
Louise J. Brooks, Charlotte M. Stanley, etc. 


TERMS:— The New York Fireside Companion will be sent for one 
year, on receipt of $3: two copies for $5. Getters up of clubs can after- 
ward add single copies at $2,50 each. We will be responsible for remit- 
tances sent in Registered Letters or by Post-office Money Orders. Postage 
free. Specimen copies sent free. 

Address GEORGE MUNRO, 

P. C. Box 8751 . MUNRO'S PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

17 to 27 Vande water St., and 45 to 53 Rose St., New York. 


e 



LADIES! 


M you appreciate a Corset that will iieiHier break down nor roll up in loeart 

TRY BALL’S CORSETS. 

If y#u value health and comfort, 

WEAR BALL’S CORSETS. 

If you desire a Corset that fits tl^e first day you wear it, and needs no 
"breaking in,” 

BUY BALL’S CORSETS. 

If you desire a Corset that yields with every motion of the body, 
EXAMINE BALL’S CORSETS. 

If you want a perfect fit and support without compression, 

USE BALL’S CORSETS. 

Owing to their peculiar construction it is impossible to break steels in 
Ball’s Corsets. 

The Elastic Sections in Ball’s Corsets contain no rubber, and are warranted 
to out wear the Corset. 

Every pair sold with the following guarantee : 

“If not perfectly satisfactory in every respect after three weeks* 
trial, the money paid for them will be refunded (by the dealer', 
Soiled or Unsoiled.” 


The wonderful popularity of Ball’s Corsets has induced rival manu- 
facturers to imitate them. If you want a Corset that will give perfect sati-s- 
faction, insist on purchasing one marked. 

Patented Feb. 22. 1881. 

And see that the name BALL Is on the box; also Guarantee ot the 

Chicago Corset Co. 

AWARDED HIGHEST PRIZES WHERHVER EXHIBITED. 

S'or S«ile 1>y a.11 l>ry Ooo<lf$ iu tlie 

UmitedL and SSug^land. 


BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER: 

A FEW DAYS AMONG 

OUR SOUTHERN BRETHREN. 

BY HEISRY M. FIEED, D.D., 

Author of “ From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Homf' “ From Egypt 
to Japan''' “ On the Desert''' “ Among the Holy Hills," and 
“ The Greek Islands, and Turkey after the War" 


Of Doctor Field’s new book the New York Observer says: “ Doctor Field hat 
•written many good books of travel in foreign lands; but this little book of 
letters from our own United States, and which he has called ‘ Blood is Thicker 
THAN Water,’ will be judged by many to be the best of all.” 

The New York Independent saj^s: “ The volume has a large part of its charm 
in the fact that it is brimming over with reminiscences of the war, pictures of 
battles succeeded by peace, with handshakings of Federals and Confederates,, 
all content now to belong to one general United States. Doctor Field has suc- 
ceeded wonderfully in investing with rare interest a somewhat prosaic and 
common tour b}" connecting it with the high sentiments of patriotism and na- 
tional faith. While the volume is wTitten for the ordinary intelligent reader, 
may we venture to remark that it is just such a book as we would like to put in. 
the hands of the young; and which, though not professedly a religious book, 
we should be very glad to have shove out of the Sunday-school Library many 
more pious but really less Christian and le&s useful volumes.” 

The New York World says: “ Doctor Field’s brilliant descriptions of the 
scenes visited, his reminiscences of the war, taken from the lips of ex-Confeder- 
ate officers, the vivid contrast he draws between the horrors of battle and the 
present plenty and contentment of peace and prosperity, delight the reader 
and lead to the regret that the volume is not twice as long as it is. . . . It is 
not merely a pleasing book of travel; it is a volume which should have a wide 
influence in further cementing the bonds which now hold the north and south 
together in the strength and affection of indissoluble union.” 


For Sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers. 

PRICE 25 CENTS. 


Sent by mail, postage free, on receipt of 25 cents. Address, 

GEORGE MUNRO, 

MUNRO’S PUBLISHING HOUSE. 

to ‘27 Vaudewater Street, New York.. 


K I L D E E ; 

OR, 


THE SPHIHX OF THE RED HOUSE 


By MAEY E. 'bEYAN, 

Author op “The Bayou Bride,’’ “The Fugitive Bride,’’ etc. 


FIB8T HALF, 



NEW YORK: 

OEOUGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

17 TO 27 Vandewater Street. 






■V 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the years 1885 and 1886, hyf 
GEORGE MUNRO, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. 


MAEY E. BEYAE’S WOEKS 

CONTAINED IN THE SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION): 


NO. PRICE. 

731 The Bayou Bride 20 

857 Kildee; or, The Sphinx of the Red House. First half 20 
857 Kildee; or,. The Sphinx of the Red House. Second half 20 


KILDEE; 

OR, 

The Sphinx of the Red House. 


CHAPTER 1. 

The afternoon was fine; the hay in the distance sparkled 
in the sunshine^ a light sea breeze played with the gray 
moss-beards of the live oaks. Ochiltree race-track — two 
miles out from the old city of Wallport — was in good con- 
dition— the dust laid by a hard shower the day before. 

It was only four o^ clock, but a number of worshipers of 
horse fiesh were showing off their fast trotters attached to 
light buggies that fairly spun around the course. The fore- 
most of these vehicles was drawn by a span of ponies — 
clean-limbed fellows that lifted their feet in thorough-bred 
style. He who handled the reins with graceful nonchalance 
was Miles Carleon, owner of the race-track and of the finest 
turf horses in the State. He was over thirty, hnt did not 
look so; he carried his medium-height, compact figure with 
easy assurance; he was fair and florid, with chestnut hair 
in half curls, and a light mustache shading his voluptuous 
mouth. 

^^Holdon,^^ he called out to a groom in front of him 
who was exercising his favorite horse — a black stallion, with 
a hint of Tartar blood in his powerful build. You are 
worrying Mahmoud, holding him in. Get down and take 
these reins. Ifil let him out a little; it^s what he^s fretting 
for.^^ 

He checked the ponies as he spoke, leaped over the 


8 kildee; ok, the sphikx of the red house. 

wheels and mounted into the saddle the groom had vacated. 
As he was about to be off, two young men drove up. 

‘‘ See here, Oarleon,^^ cried one of them, I heard you 
say that Mrs. Montcalm would be at your island party to- 
morrow; are you certain of it? Be sure of what you say — 
there ^s a bet pending. 

One is sure of nothing in this world, least of all of 
what a woman will do,^^ Carleon answered, turning his 
head over his shoulder. 

^ ^^Hold on. Have you heard the report — generally 
known— that her husband told her she should never enter 
his house again if she went to Aphrodite Island 

Yes.^^ 

And you believe it?^^ 

I think it likely. 

Then it^s no bet, Thornbury. 1^11 not throw away 
money. The fair Laura w'on^t fool with such a man as 
Montcalm, I take it. Besides, they say she^s really fond 
of him. Luckily the bet wasnH confirmed; so ITl craw- 
fish. 

‘^1^11 take you up, Thornbury, Oarleon said quietly. 

What were the stakes?’^ 

Only a double ten.^^ 

Make it a fifty — twice that, if you like.-^^ 

No, thanks. The fifty is all I'^ll venture. I^m doubt- 
ful of that since I see how confident you seem. But then, 
I remember your old trick of playing bluff, with not a pair 
in your hand; so — 

Well; fifty it stands. Dyke there is witness. Ta-ta. 
I canT hold Mahmoud any longer. 

‘‘ WeTl manage to keep up with you, Carleon, unless 
you Ye going to let that brute out,^^ called one of the horse- 
men who had just ridden up. 

I am going to let him out, and not on the course either. 
I’ve business in town this minute. ITl see you all to- 
night. ” 


KILDEE; OK;, THE SPHINX OF THE RED HOUSE. . 9 

He wheeled the horse out of the race-track as he spoke 
and set out at a fast pace along the levels beaten road that 
led to the city. 

Splendid animals — both of theni;, Thornbury com- 
mented, looking after the horse and rider. Business, in- 
deed! Vll wager ifc^'s an appointment with some woman. 

I don^t know,^^ answered Dyke. Carleon’s showing 
shrewd business sense of late; keeps things pretty well in 
hand, and is piling up the shekels. Shouldn't wonder if 
he has an eye to entering the political field. 

Tell me about him,^ ^ said one of the equestrians, riding 
up to the side of the buggy — a boyish little blue-jacketed 
midshipman from the United States steamship that lay in 
port. I know he'^s a tiptop fellow; fine judge of horse- 
fiesh, and wines, and all that; but what else? He owns 
this race-course, doesn^t he?^^ 

Yes; and the largest liquor house in Wallport, and the 
Arcade Gambling Saloon, where you dropped a few dollars 
last night. Carleon was born to good luck. He ran 
through one big fortune; and just as the world was clap- 
ping its hands and crying out: ‘Here he goes, down — 
down!^ the see-saw of luck bounced ‘ up, up,^ once more. 
A miserly old aunt left him the half -million she had been 
starving herself to save. 

“ And so he once more rides on the top wave of society 

“Well, not exactly. Wallport is strait-laced — full of 
moldy aristocracy. Carleon ran through his character as 
well as his money, and he didnT get the former renewed. 
He^s still a bankrupt in that line. The Bourbon blue 
blood turns the cold shoulder to him. Papas don^t invite 
him; mammas draw their pretty charges closer under their 
wing when he is encountered. Even Mrs. La Rue, who is 
only a hanger-on to the outskirts of the exclusives, doesn^t 
pet him openly; she^s afraid to. You see, he is notorious. 
That little Eden he^s got yonder on Aphrodite Island has 
always some frail Eve in it. He doesn^’t live there, you 


10 kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 

know; has handsome rooms at the Bay House; keeps a 
yachfc and fancy sail boats though, to take him where he 
pleases on the water. 

And who is Mrs. Montcalm?^^ 

The handsomest woman in Wallport — married to the 
haughtiest, coldest man. Just now, however, he seems to 
be courting popular favor; has joined all the societies, 
speaks on public occasions, bows to people on the streets 
and shakes hands with them — one can see it goes against 
the grain for him to do it. It^s clear he means to run for 
office. His elder brother. General Eolff Montcalm, will 
back him. The general is an old favorite on the political 
track, you know — an old war-horse, with no end of record, 
would beat any man now that could be trotted out, only 
he^s retired. HeTl give his influence to his younger broth- 
er; and if the nominating convention will only — 

Pray donT give us any politics. Dyke; save all that for 
your paper, broke in Thornbury. 

Hoes Mrs. Montcalm belong to the La Eue set?^^ asked 
the little midshipman. 

‘‘ She does and she doesn^t. We had her to a few ger- 
mans this winter, but of late she is holding back. She has 
a dull time of it in her home — husband neglectful, morose, 
neighbors unsocial. She has only been here two years; and 
the Wallport women of the Bourbon stock are dreadfully 
cliquish. They do not take kindly to strangers. So there 
is nothing for belle Laura but to fall into the Sans Souci 
ring — Mrs. La Eue, Carleon & Co. — who revolve outside 
the narrow orbit of the exclusives. Mrs. La Eue is witty 
and kind-hearted, Carleon is captivating, and we, the ^ Co.% 
are innocently diverting. Unfortunately, Mrs. Mont- 
calm^s husband doesnH view us in this benevolent light. 
He objects to our amusing his car a sposa; particularly does 
he object to Carleon; and so — 

“ And so you are good to lose that fifty, Thornbury,^ ^ 
interrupted Dyke. 


kildee; ok, the sphihx of the red house. 11 

Possibly. We shall see what a day will bring forth. 
Yonder comes De Witt at last, with his new chestnut — a 
five hundred-dollar cut. . Showy, but stiff in the hind legs, 
it strikes me. Eblis here can distance him, and not half 
try. Clear the track, and 1^11 show you when he comes 
up.^^ 

And as the chestnut trotted abreast of his bay, Thorn- 
bury nodded a challenge to its owner, and the two turnouts 
spun ahead, keeping well together, while the equestrian 
group brought up the rear. 

Meantime, Carleon had reached the city suburbs and 
turned into a narrow street, bordered by old-fashioned, 
dilapidated-looking houses. Once this had been a fashiona- 
ble quarter, and still there was an effort at shabby gentility 
to be seen in some of the dwellings. 

Carleon stopped before a tall, narrow house with weather- 
stained walls, from which the plastering had dropped away 
in places, giving it a leprous look. A crooked stairway led 
up to a porch with a mossy gable roof, and pillars matted 
with ivy. Ivy also muffled several of the small narrow 
windows that had hood-like roofs and iron-railed balconies. 

One of these windows was open, and Carleon saw a 
slender figure in black pass before it. 

She is here,^^ he said, and dismounting he gave his 
horse in charge of a venerable negro and entered the house. 

He opened the outer door without ceremony, but inside 
the hall he stopped before a door on the right hand and 
tapped gently. At first there was no response; he repeated 
the knock and a female voice with a slight foreign tone said: 

Entrez/’ 

The shrill tones of a parrot echoed the word. Carleon 
opened the door and the lady stopped walking and turned 
round, facing him, leaning one hand on an old-fashioned, 
claw-footed stand upon which sat the cage nf the parrot. 

Welcome if you are a friend cried the bird in 
Spanish. 


12 kildee; ok, the sphikx of the red house. 

Oarleon laughed, took a raisin from his pocket and gave 
it to the parrot with one hand. Mobile with the other he 
lifted the slim, jDassive hand of its mistress and touched it 
to his lips. 

I was riding by and called in to see how you were,^ * he 
said. You are looking well. That dress of black soft 
stuff bound at the waist with only a cord is becoming. A 
black lace mantilla over your head, a pomegranate flower 
on your breast, and Montcalm will think he sees before him 
the sweet little senorita who won his soldier heart in years 
agone. ^ ^ 

A derisive smile flitted over the dark, delicate-featured 
face, attractive, though no longer fresh. 

You could always flatter to gain your ends,^’ she said. 

You are strangely anxious I should meet my ex-husband. 
You have come now to make sure that I keep my appoint- 
ment with Captain Montcalm this evening. Well, it wants 
two hours of that time — and I — I have been considering if 
I shall go.^^ 

‘ I thought you were decided. There was nothing in his 
reply to your note to make you unwilling to meet him?^^ 

Nothing. He wrote that he was greatly surprised to 
hear from me. No doubt; it is probable that he thought 
me dead. He could see no good, he said, that could result 
from our meeting again, after all these years and changes; 
but he would be at the place appointed — the old cemetery 
— at six 0^ clock. I did not look for anything more or any- 
thing less. I felt sure he would come — he is afraid to ex- 
cite my anger, lest I expose him; this is the secret of his 
compliance. 

And you are doubtful if you will keep the appointment 
you made yourself?'’^ 

Made at your instigation, if you please. Why should 
I want to meet, a man who wronged me so cruelly, who 
ignored me so utterly for all these years — robbed me of my 
child, evaded my pursuit, and took up his abode in a 


kildee; ok, the sphihx of the bed house. 13 

foreign land to escape me. I had no thought of meeting 
him when I came to this place. I came here to see you, to 
ask you for the sake of old — friendship — to advance me a 
sum that would enable me to go. upon the stage. You had 
money to throw away, and I knew you were generous. 
You have that grace, if no other. I did not know, until 
you told me, that Captain Montcalm was living here with 
a wife he had married two years ago — he who is rightfully 
my husband. 

Not lawfully, however. 

I care nothing for your law. Honor is above. law. He 
married me honorably as our customs go. In my country 
of Mexico the ceremony of hand-fastening is binding in 
right if not in law. The man who breaks it stains his 
honor. When I married Burrell Montcalm, it was not 
possible to have the rites strictly legal. The country was 
in a tumult. He was a wounded refugee from Walker^s 
routed army of filibusters. My mother and I nursed him 
back, to life. Before his wound was healed he insisted on 
marrying me. We took the vows kneeling before the shrine 
of the Virgin in our old church at home in the presence of 
my mother and friends. It was a left-handed marriage — 
so they call such in Mexico — but it was honorable and 
sacred as any. I never doubted his truth: love, gratitude, 
honor, all seemed to bind him to me. Yet he left me in a 
year — me a mother, though but little over fifteen — and 
went back to the States. He said it was to prepare a home 
for me and reconcile his family to receive me as his wife. 
But he did not return. He stayed away four years. A 
few letters came at first-short and unsatisfactory; then 
these ceased, I had no money to seek him; no friend fliat 
could help me. I was miserable; looked on as a poor duped 
wretch by those about me. Then I fell in with you. You 
persuaded me to leave my child and go with you to the 
States to hunt for my husband. I went — and — 

A hot flush rose into her olive cheek; her eyes faltered 


14 kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red house. 

in their steady gaze into Carleon^s; then the long lashes 
swept up again, and the eyes flashed as she went on: 

After all, I should blame you for my ruined life. If I 
had not gone with you all would have been different, for 
‘Montcalm came as you know; he found me gone; he de- 
nounced me and took my child; I have never seen either of 
them since. But for you — 

Carleon made an impatient gesture. 

You have said it is too late in the day for compliments 
between us; it is also too late for reproaches. If you per- 
sist in bringing up old scores, I must leave you. I make 
it a rule never to listen to unpleasant things. ^ ^ 

“ I know you do. I know how selfish and soulless you 
are. I knew it then. I spoke falsely just now. I do not 
lay the great wrong of my life to you. I lay it to the man 
I gave myself to when I was a loving, innocent child. 
Yoxi^ I never loved; it was only a temporary infatuation. 
If I had not been deserted and desperate, with the fever of 
hurt pride and love burning in my heart, I would never 
have listened to you. No, the wrong that crippled my life 
came from the man you urge me to see. Why should I 
see him? What good will it do? I want money, but not 
from him. It seems to me that money would burn my fin- 
gers if it came from him. There was a time when I longed 
to be revenged upon him, but hate, like love, has burned 
out in me. There is nothing in my heart now but ashes; 
all I hope or ask for now is excitement — something to warm 
these ashes. The stage will give me this* if I can get 
there. That is my last hope, and for its sake I have come 
to you; and you — you discourage me. You think I would 
not succeed. ^ ^ 

I do not doubt your success on the stage if you could 
once get a place upon it. But it is the difficulty, the 
almost impossibility of this, which leads me to discourage 
your idea of becoming an actress. It is too late for you to 
begin at the bottom of the ladder. Besides, you must live; 


kildee; oe^ the sphinx of the ked house. 15 

and yon require certain luxuries, indulgences, you tell me, 
which have become as necessary to you as food and air. 
How are you to obtain them? I tell you, your best way is 
to fasten yourself on Montcalm. Oh, T know that course 
revolts you; but you have seen too much of life not to know 
that we must be governed by facts, not shadows. Hunger 
and cold, and the necessity to live and be comfortable, are 
facts; pride and sentiment are shadows. Thrust them 
aside. Montcalm owes you reparation for what he has 
done. He will go to some length, I imagine, rather than 
you should expose him just now. He is ambitious, aspires 
to political honors, through his brother's (the generaFs) 
•influence. He is at the head of the military organization 
here, and prides himself on his honorable name. It would 
mortify him and injure him as well to have the story of his 
early indiscretion — 

I have told you I would not make that story public — 
for my own sake. Thanks to you, my part in it would not 
be blameless. I do not wish to have my past life dissected 
in the newspapers. If I should have an opportunity to go 
upon the stage, this would be a great injury to me. I wish 
to appear as young as possible — or at least I do not wish to 
be handicapped by such a reputation as would be mine 
afte]* the newspapers had their say. Besides, what have I 
to gain by making the affair public? I have, you tell me, 
no legal claims upon Captain Montcalm, and I have no 
claim upon his heart. A man^s love is a poor thing when it 
is fresh and hot, but after a dozen years have cooled it, bah!^^ 

You might rekindle it. Montcalm does not look like 
a person of sentiment, but his brother, the general (who is 
my good friend), assures me he is a man of very deep feel- 
ing and wonderful constancy, and that an early love affair 
and disappointment in Mexico was the cause of his present 
reserved and stern demeanor. I believe he has never for- 
gotten you, that he still remembers with fondness the child- 
wife of his youth. There is another tie — the child. 


16 kildee; ok^ the sphihx of the bed house. 

It is doubtless dead/^ 

I have a very strong idea that it is alive somewhere. 
A desire to know what has become of it js a good and suffi- 
cient excuse for your seeking Montcalm and establishing a 
claim upon him. You can persuade him that you were 
never untrue to him (with those eyes and that voice you 
can make a man believe anything), that you have sought 
for him everywhere, broken-hearted but still faithful. You 
are still a magnetic — a beautiful woman. 

She frowned, but in spite of herself the color in her cheek 
grew warmer. 

So is hiswife,^^ she said presently. 

His wife is a blonde. No tawny Saxon like Montcalm 
ever loved a blonde. He married her chiefly out of sym- 
pathy, partly perhaps for her money. Have you not heard 
the story? The girl was an orphan with only an adopted 
brother for a guardian. When she quitted the school-room 
she went with an aunt to Europe on a short excursion trip. 
In Florence they met Montcalm, who had been abroad for 
years in some official capacity. The raw school-girl fell 
madly in love with the mature, polished man of the world. 
He knew how to deal with such fancies, and it would 
probably have come to nothing, only the girTs aunt died 
suddenly of apoplexy, leaving her alone in a strange city. 
She clung to Montcalm for sympathy and protection. 
They were much thrown together, and the result was that 
he married her and came back with her to America. But 
they are uncongenial. She does not interest him. She is 
romantic and worships him, but it is an ideal. She glories 
in his stern rectitude and calls him her Eoman. But she 
is fast becoming disenchanted, and when she knows your 
story, her idol will tumble from its pedestal. 

She will not know it. 

She will hear it tliis evening — in (looking at his watch) 
less than an hour from now. She will be near your ren- 
dezvous with Captain Montcalm — near enough to see and 


kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 17 

hear all she can. She has read your note to her husband 
— or rather a copy of it — asking him to meet you in the 
old Colonial cemetery. I caused a facsimile of that note 
to be put into her hands by her maid, with the story that 
it was picked up in Captain Montcalm ^s dressing-room. 

You did this?^^ Zulimee cried, her Spanish eyes ablaze; 

and what was your motive? A personal, a selfish one, I 
know. I do not believe in your disinterestedness. I re- 
fuse to be your blind tool. Tell me at once what is your 
interest in the matter, or — 

Quietly, ma telle. You shall know my motive. I 
don^t mind being open with you. Indeed, your penetration 
would not permit me to be anything else. In the first 
place, then, I hate this Montcalm. He has presumed to 
sit in judgment on my conduct; he gives himself haughty, 
superior airs; he has crossed my path more than once. He 
has been put at the head of a military organization here, 
when I had every right to expect the honor. He is run- 
ning for, and will probably be elected to, an important city 
office, when I had a man of my own picked out to fill it. 
He has forbidden his wife to hold any intercourse with a 
set here — a little lively, may be, but as respectable as any 
in the city — a set that includes nearly all my friends. For 
these and other reasons, I owe a bitter grudge to the man. 
I would be glad of anything that would mortify or injure 
him. A separation from his wife would do both. He does 
not care for her, and she is beginning to resent his indiffer- 
ence. Already they are partially estranged. The knowl- 
edge of your claims upon him — the story of his relations 
with and desertion of you, will complete the estrange- 
ment. 

‘‘ That does not necessarily follow. This relation existed 
long before he met her. She loves him, she will forgive 
him and keep his secret for the sake both of her love and 
her pride. I feel sure there will be no interview between 
him and me this evening. She has gone to him with re- 


18 kildee; ok^ the sphii^x of the red house. 

proaclies; alarmed and humbled, he has explained, pro- 
tested, promised, and in the end there has been a recon- 
ciliation. 

Is that all you know of your sex? Then I understand 
their nature better than you do, as the sequel will show. I 
would swear that she has not told him of the note. She 
has kept her counsel, determined to see for herself. She 
will be on hand in the old cemetery before you are — con- 
cealed somewhere among the tombs or the shrubbery. She 
will see your meeting with Montcalm — pray manage that it 
shall seem kind if not passionate; she will overhear some- 
thing of what is said; take care that she hears what will 
assure her of your claims upon him, of your wrongs, the 
child, etc. There will be no opportunity afterward for re- 
proaches on her part, or explanations on his, for he wilbgo 
straight from the cemetery to the railroad depot. He is 
pledged to deliver an address at a public gathering in 
Smithville to-morrow at ten. He would not disappoint 
the crowd for anything, and his train leaves at half past 
seven this evening. He will just have time to catch it after 
his interview with you. To-morrow I have a little lawn 
party at my island villa. Montcalm has told his wife if 
she goes she shall not return to his house. He does not im- 
agine she would disobey him, nor did she dream of going 
so yesterday or this morning. But to-night, when she re- 
turns from the cemetery, she will be reckless enough for 
anything. She will be ready for any vent for wounded 
pride and outraged love. She will be of the island party, 
and Montcalm, who is sternly determined and has a terrible 
temper, will keep his word. She will be in the mood to 
defy him, and a separation will follow, probably a divorce. 
Then comes the opportunity for the first wife — the woman 
he has always loved — to reinstate herself in his affections, 
in his home and his wealth — she, and probably her child. 

And you, my lord she asked with a mocking, but 
still a beaming smile. 


kildee; ok^ the sphinx of the red house. 19 

Oh, my share of the profit comes in just here. Mont- 
calm will be too much occupied with his tangled affairs to 
pursue politics or court popularity. 

‘‘ While his lovely wife will be free to ornament the 
society of which Miles Carleon is the cynosure. 

‘‘ Exactly. You are sure to see to the bottom of my 
motives. Well, you understand how we can play into each 
other^s hands, if you will only be reasonable and toss pride 
and sentiment overboard.'’^ 

They did not hear a knock that fell upon the door, but 
the parrot did. He had been hopping restlessly on his 
perch and making croaking noises all the while the two 
conversed: now he shrieked out, Entrez,’’ The door 
opened and a roly-poly, frousy-headed woman entered with 
a tray, on which were a tiny smoking coffee-pot and a cup 
and saucer. 

I have brought your coffee hot and strong, at five as 
you told me,^^ she said to Zulimee. You were going out, 
you said.^"" 

Thanks, Madame Brazael. Yes; I am going out di- 
rectly, the Spanish woman answered, and looked at Carleon. 

So you will go to the appointment, he said low, reply- 
ing to the look. That is right; and now forgive one 
friendly suggestion. You know your weak point— your 
quick, passionate temper; pray be watchful of it in the 
coming interview. Be calm and far-seeing. The next 
hour or two may be laden with fate for you. I trust it will 
bring only good fortune. Adieu. 

With another touch of his mustached lips to her hand, 
he was gone. Madame Brazael had also left the room. 
Zulimee stood a second in thought. 

Can it be there is any good luck waiting for me?’^ she 
muttered. I can not feel it so. I am strangely de- 
pressed. I shrink from this meeting. Oh, how it will 
bring back the old innocent, loving days! Ah, well, per- 
haps the coffee with help me.*^^ 


20 kildee; oe, the sphii^^x of the eed house. 

She took up the little metal pot and poured a part of its 
steaming contents into the cup. 

It looks strong/ she said, eying the clear brown color 
of the liquid, “ but I will add to its strength."^ 

She opened a drawer and took out a small crystal-and- 
gilt flask half filled with brandy. She poured a few spoon- 
fuls of the liquor into, the coffee and drank it. Then she 
threw a black lace mantilla over her head, and glanced at 
her watch; then paced the floor restlessly, holding her hand 
over her heart. 

It will not do. I must have the morphine after all,^^ 
she said aloud. Nothing else can wind me up. I seem 
all run down. 


CHAPTEE 11. 

Caeleok rode briskly to the quarter of the town where 
Captain Montcalm lived. Dismounting before a public 
building, he made his way to an upper story, stationed 
himself at a window commanding a view of Montcalm's 
house and brought his opera-glass to bear upon its front 
door. Five minutes passed; then a female figure, muffled 
in a gray cloak and veil, came out and passed into the 
street. Carleon smiled, well pleased. In spite of the un- 
usual dress, he knew Laura Montcalm's gliding yet proud 
walk. It was she, and she was going to the cemetery, else 
she would not have dressed that way and would not have 
gone on foot, when she had a pretty pony phaeton. He 
watched her enter a street car that would take her near the 
old river-side cemetery, unused for many years, neglected 
and overgrown. Then he came down, remounted 
Mahmoud and was cantering leisurely up the street when 
Mrs. La Eue's carriage turned a corner. She signaled to 
the driver to stop and beckoned to Carleon. He rode up 
beside the carriage, and returned her gay, familiar greeting. 


kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red house. 21 

I went to see Laura this morning, according to 
promise/^ she said. 

And what success?^^ 

None. It took stratagem to see her, even. The serv- 
ants had evidently received orders not to admit me. I 
found her melancholy and subdued. It is plain she will 
submit to his tyranny; his high mightiness awes her to his 
will. Besides, she worships him — little fool! I am now 
convinced it was true — the report that he had ordered her, 
under penalty of a separation, to break off all intercourse 
with me and you and the rest of us. Wretched Puritan- 
that he is 

Puritan? Don^t judge him by his present strait-laced 
respectability. If you knew his past! But no matter — or 
rather all the better for me. 

What in the world do you mean?’^ 

Nothing; only that Laura Montcalm will go with us to 
Aphrodite to-morrow. 

I canT see for my life what you found that assertion 
upon. ^ 

I don^t always show my hand — even to you. Perhaps 
I have kept back a telling card to the last, and will trump 
this trick in spite of his high mightiness.'’^ 

‘‘ I don^t believe it. ITl wager my diamond cluster 
against that emerald on your little finger that you don^t 
succeed. 

"" Done.'’"' 

And now tell me what this trump card is?^^ 

Oh, that was not in the bargain. It is something that 
involves a long-standing secret, whose disclosure would be 
fraught with important results. However, there is some- 
thing I wish to talk to you about. Can I see you this even- 
ing?^^ 

Certainly— no. I have promised to be at Kalcini^s 
concert. 

It will bore you to death. Cut it by ten and take an 


22 kildee; or^ the sphinx oe the red house. 

ice with me at De Vigne^s. There is a matter in which I 
need your friendly co-operation. 

Very well; but take my counsel, Oarleon. Let Mrs. 
Montcalm alone. That husband of hers will never let her 
belong to the Sans Souci. If you persist, there will be 
something serious — a divorce, a duel may be. ^ ^ 

So be it; anything to stir this stagnant old town/^ 
laughed Oarleon, showing. his white teeth under his brown 
mustache as he bowed and wheeled, his horse. 

He rode in a canter down to the old cemetery on the out- 
• skirts of the town. Biding close to the high brick wall that 
encircled it — old and crumbling, and held together, it 
would seem, by the ivy that covered it — he peered over and 
presently smiled to himself as he caught a glimpse of a gray 
figure gliding among the shrubbery in the distance. 

The next instant it disappeared among the trees that 
grew thickly near the river-bank. He turned his horse^s 
head and rode back to the town well satisfied. 

Laura Montcalm had meantime reached the place of 
meeting pointed out in the note — the loneliest spot of all 
the ruined church-yard — known as the Haunted Willow, 
the burial spot of a noted chemist, who had been convicted 
of murder fifty years before, and had hanged himself in his 
cell. The ground here fell in irregular terraces to the 
river; the trees were hung ,with wild-grape and bamboo 
vines, and wild ivy matted the ground. A large rock 
projected over the water. Near it was a great weeping- 
willow, overhanging a discolored granite slab, with the 
name of the murderer-chemist in dim lichen-crusted letters 
upon it. 

Laura, standing alone on one of the wooded terraces of 
the declivity, had peered cautiously through the under- 
growth down into this secluded covert. Seeing no one, she 
descended the natural terrace and stood on the river- bank. 
She looked for a second into the black, cfeep waters below, 
then glanced about her to find a hiding-place. At a little 


kildee; ok^ the sphii^x of the bed house. 23 

distance from the Haunted Willow were two large haif- 
sunken limestone rocks, with blossomed rhododendrons 
growing thickly about them. In the narrow space between 
these bowlders Laura crouched down among the thick wild 
ivy. The rhododendron boughs screened her well, and in 
her gray attire she looked a part of the lichened rock she 
leaned against. 

She looked at her watch. 

Five minutes to six,^^ she said; I have not long to 
wait.^^ 

She gathered ivy leaves mechanically, and tore and 
crushed them with her nervous fingers. She said to her- 
self she would not look out from her covert until some 
noise gave her the signal. It was not long before the 
noise came — a rustle, an inarticulate sound between a sigh 
and an exclamation made her heart leap wildly. She 
raised her head and looked through the rhododendron 
boughs. There by the willow stood a veiled woman, en- 
veloped in a loose, dark wrap, gazing about her. As 
Laura looked, the new-comer threw off the veil and wrap, 
flinging them upon the old chemist^s tombstone, and 
stepped out upon the rock that jutted over the water, where 
Laura had stood a few moments before. A slant, mellow 
beam of the low sun fell upon her slender, graceful figure 
in its robe of soft black, bound at the waist with a silken 
cord, and upon her dark delicate face under the black lace 
mantilla. The black tendril curls on the low brow, the 
jetty arched brows, the brilliant eyes, the rich, small 
mouth and graceful throat — the colored sunset light en- 
hanced their beauty, and Laura ^s heart sunk within her. 

Zulimee stood looking down at the dark water, but she 
turned her head every second and seemed to wait impatient- 
ly. Laura, with her gaze riveted on the darkly brilliant 
face, did not hear a firm step descending the terrace; but 
she saw the black-robed figure turn quickly and waver an 
instant, then with a low exclamation start forward as 


24 kildee; oe^ the sphijs^x oe the bed house. 

though to throw herself in the arms of the new arrival. 
But Captain Montcalm stood unmoved, even repellent, his 
tall soldierly form as haughtily erect, his face as coldly im- 
passive as ever. His Spanish ex-wife stopped just before 
him, and the two stood looking at each other; she flush- 
ing and paling, the red pomegranate bloom on her breast 
rising and falling with the tide of real emotion that swelled 
within her. And he — did his eyes soften, his mouth relax 
— Laura thought so; she was sure of it when she saw Zu- 
limee throw herself on his breast and clasp her arms about 
him. Still he did not move. The woman ^s form shook, a 
smothered sob escaped her — Captain Montcalm looked 
down at her, and a quiver went over his face; he raised his 
arms and clasped her in a close embrace. It was a minute 
before her head was lifted; then his was bowed over her 
and their lips met. 

Presently he led her to a seat on the old grave-stone, and 
they sat and talked while the shadows lengthened. Only 
fragments of their conversation reached Laura ^s ear, but 
she heard enough to make known to her the former rela- 
tions between the two. The left-handed marriage in Mex- 
ico; the child, who might still be living; and the misunder- 
standing (explained by Captain Montcalm) which had led 
to the long separation — they spoke of all this, and from the 
fragments she caught of their talk, Laura^s quick intelli- 
gence, sharpened by excitement, made out the whole story. 
Nothing of all she heard stung her as did the words of 
Captain Montcalm uttered almost at the close of the inter- 
view: 

No, Zulimee,^^ he said, caressing her slim hand sooth- 
ingly. The blame is not fully mine nor yours, it seems. 
It is fate that has spoiled our lives. I loved you always; I 
have never loved any other woman. When I came and 
found you gone, I was too curious to listen to explanations. 
I did not stop to think that you might reasonably have gone 
to seek me with the protection and help of a friend. It 


kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 25 

was a miserable play of cross purposes all around. If we 
had met there would have been explanations and all would 
have been well. We did not meet until now, when it is too 
late. Two years ago it would not have been too late. 

Is it surely too late now?^^ Zulimee asked beseechingly. 

Have I not a prior claim? You are married where you 
do not love — and — 

He interrupted her. Laura could not hear what he said 
— something she caught about his abhorrence of the scan- 
dal and gossip that follow upon the separation of those who 
are married — something about ambition and office and his 
hope to forget his domestic disappointments in active pub- 
lic business. Then he rose to go; he kissed Zulimee once 
and again. She said: 

It is not our last meeting. I shall see you again. 

When he was gone, she remained standing where he had 
left her, motionless for a moment. Then she clinched her 
small hand and exclaimed, in a husky excited whisper: 

I have the prior claim — ^the rightful, if not the legal 
claim. He shall regard it. If he does not do to her as he 
threatened, I will make him’ regret it.'^ 

Then she, too, left the spot where the shadows of twi- 
light were gathering, and Laura was alone. She sat there 
among the green ivy that the dews were beginning to 
moisten, without moving — her face gray and chill as the 
stone she leaned against. Something slimy and cold glid- 
ing across her hand as it lay upon the ground made her 
start at length. She looked, and saw a little mottled snake 
eying her curiously. It hissed softly and slid off among 
the leaves. 

Go!^^ she said, bitterly. I would not harm you, and 
I am not afraid of your harming me; it is the human snake 
I would like to crush, for it has stung me — yes, to the 
heart. And shall I suffer it tamely? Shall I not sting in 
•return?^^ 


26 kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red house. 


CHAPTER III. 

Art and nature had made Aphrodite Island a little para- 
dise. A strip of silvery sand beach girdled it like a ring 
of pearl and made its greenery gleam with emerald brill- 
iancy. The island was dotted with wild myrtle, live-oak 
and magnolia-trees. An ornamented iron fence, invisible 
green in color, inclosed the grounds proper. From the 
great iron gate an avenue led up to the graceful Moorish- 
looking mansion. In front, in the center of a broad paved 
circle, a fountain played; half a dozen bright jets pouring 
from the horns of marble Tritons into a sculptured basin, 
surrounded by broad -leaved water plants. A hedge of cape 
jasmine, now in full bloom, snowy and scented, bordered 
the paved circle. In a magnolia grove at a little distance, 
the lawn party were seated at a banquet-table, made fairy- 
like by its surroundings and appointments. Flowers were 
heaped everywhere. Roses garlanded the fruit-stands; 
purple grapes and golden-brown figs lay upon beds of lilies, 
and frosted cakes gleamed in a setting of crimson carna- 
tions. The flower-scented air pulsed to the soft strains of 
a string band, proceeding from an adjacent arbor where 
the musicians were stationed. An hour ago they had 
played a gayer measure — and the dancers had whirled to 
the waltz music, in the paved circle before the mansion. 

Presently, at the signal from the host, Miles Carleon, 
the band returned to their former station — the broad mar- 
ble steps of the house — and once more the music of Strauss 
came throbbing through the sunset air, to quicken the 
pulses of the banqueters. 

Another dance! We will have another dance before 
we go,^^ cried a young man, pushing his wine from him. 

Another.^ AVe shall have half a dozen, shall w^e not. 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 27 

helle 7nadame,^^ asked a beardless youth of the fair, though 
passee woman at his side. 

No, indeed, returned Mrs. La Eue, tapping her 
questioner's arm with the cluster of grapes she was leisurely 
eating. One dance more is positively all that can be per- 
mitted. We must flit from this charmed spot with the 
daylight. We dare not linger. 

She spoke in lowered tones, with a furtive glance to the 
head of the table, as though anxious that she should not be 
overheard by the host, or was it by the lady at his side — 
the lovely blonde, with the lustrous sea- blue eyes? 

But Miles Carleon was not listening to Mrs. La Eue; he 
was bending over Laura Montcalm. 

You will give me this waltz?^^ he pleaded. 

His tones were like a caress. She drew back, flushing. - 
Then she looked up from the rose she had been absently 
dipping in her wine-glass, and said coldly: 

I will not dance any more.^^ 

He looked at her keenly. 

You are tired, he said. You have hardly been still 
to-day. Come and rest awhile in my little cave— the Grotto 
of Calypso. I have kept that as one of my island lions 
which you alone shall see.'^^ 

I can not permit such a selfish arrangement,^^ she said, 
still coldly, though his homage was grateful to her bruised 
self-love. 

He looked annoyed. Presently he said: 

You have been in such brilliant spirits all day, what 
cloud has come over you nowr^^ 

Before she could answer a voice at the other end of the 
table sung: 

“ The bright hour passes, soon it is o’er: 

Care, the raven, waits at the door.” 

“ Has the shadow of the waiting raven fallen over you?^^ 
Carleon said in a whisper full of significance. 


28 kildee; ok, the sphihx oe the red house. 

A contraction crossed her face; she swept her hand over 
her brow as though to drive away some painful thought. 

“ Folly!^^ she cried, rising from the table. What 
raven should wait at my door? Yes, Mr. Carleon, you 
may show me your grotto. 

He drew her hand through his arm, a faint curve of tri- 
umph on his handsome mouth. 

As a reward, I will play Ulysses to your Oalypso,^^ he 
said. I will relate my adventures — at least the one you 
begged to hear — the little Venetian episode.^’ 

Mrs. La Eue looked after them from under her dropped 
lashes. It was hard to interpret the significance of that 
. look. 

The party had risen, and were quitting the banquet grove 
for the open-air dancing-hall — the paved space girdled by 
the jasmine hedge. The sunset fires were fading when the 
waltz ended. 

Come,^^ cried Mrs. La Eue, and she peremptorily led 
the way down the avenue to the beach. Three painted 
j)leasure-boats rocked there on the tiny wavelets of the 
bay. 

In with you,^^ she said, pointing to the boats with her 
parasol, and looking at the reluctant girls. With pretty 
pouting, they obeyed their chaperon, if chaperon Bella La 
Eue deserved to be called, when only her husband^s wealth 
and her family connections saved her from being ostracized 
for her imprudences. 

Yet she was anxious to keep within the bounds of social 
toleration, and she trembled lest she had overstepped them 
by this merry-mad day in the island Eden over which the 
serpent so notoriously trailed. 

She had turned a deaf ear to the entreaties to have one 
more waltz, or to wait half an hour for such a splendid 
moonrise. 

“ Stay on the enchanted island till moonrise she cried. 

Never; we would be transformed into sooty goblins by 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 29 

those arch professors of the black art, the gossips of Wall- 
port. 

Where is Mrs. Montcalm asked a young man, com- 
ing down to the shore. 

She sent word we need not wait. She is with Carleon; 
he will take care of her,^^ returned Mrs. La Eue, without 
looking around. 

He? Why, Mrs. La Eue, surely you will not permit 
— and I heard — you must have heard that her husband has 
threatened — 

“ Do I heed all the gossip I hear? Carleon will row 
Mrs. Montcalm to Wallport before we can get there. As 
for her husband ^s threat, one wouldn^t fancy it hung very 
heavily over her from her manner to-day. I never saw her 
so gay.^^ 

It was forced; one could see that. If I were you, Mrs. 
La Eue — 

If I were you, Phil Thornbury, I would go and offer 
myself to Mrs. Montcalm as her guardian knight. I have 
no doubt she would recognize the claim of such a sage 
Quixote. 

The young man stood abashed, his chivalrous impulse 
slain by that weapon so effective when one is young and 
sensitive — sarcasm from the lips of a fashionable woman. 
He took his place beside the others, the boats pushed off, 
and Laura Montcalm was left on Aphrodite Island. 

The waning of the daylight could not well be noted in 
the grotto to which Carleon had taken Mrs. Montcalm. A 
swinging lamp of silver shaded by a globe of ground-glass 
diffused a soft, moony radiance through the little retreat — 
a recess excavated in the side of a cliff and lined with tint- 
ed and speckled shells, bright-colored sea-weeds and fronds 
of white and pink coral. Marine curiosities, some graceful, 
some grotesque, were scattered here and there, a statuette 
of Venus Aphrodite occupied a niche in the wall; another 
was filled by a marble image of Moore^s forsaken sea- 


30 kildee; oe, the sphinx oe the ked house. 

nymph in the act of undergoing transformation into a 
harp. 

“ Heaven looked with pity on true love so warm, 

And changed to this soft harp the sea maiden’s form;” 

and in the center of the grotto a tiny fountain filled the air 
with perfumed spray. 

Laura half forgot the aching pain at her heart in looking 
about her. While she was examining the endless variety of 
shells, Carleon began his promised Venetian story by show- 
ing her an exquisite ornament — a watch-case made of seed 
pearls and delicate shells — a souvenir, he said, of his ac- 
quaintance with a beautiful nun of Venice, met first under 
circumstances of romance and danger. 

Probably the story was invented for the occasion, but told 
as Carleon could tell it, it served his purpose. It held the 
attention of his auditor and made her forget the fiight of time. 

She was in the mood to welcome anything that would 
lift her out of herself, and Carleon ^s low, trained voice, and 
looks that expressed tender, yet respectful homage, soothed 
and charmed her. 

He leaned nearer in his apparently unconscious earnest- 
ness, his hand fell upon her bare arm and toyed as though 
absently with her emerald bracelet. She was beginning to 
fall under the fascination of his presence and manner — a 
fascination acknowledged by most men and by all women 
who knew him, when a near note of music broke the spell. 

It came from the strings of a violin played at a little dis- 
tance from the grotto. A plaintive, tender strain; Laura 
knew it well. She had played it often on the piano for her 
father, and David Holt had accompanied her on his violin 
— David Holt, her father’s confidential clerk, his almost 
adopted son, whom he had left in his will as Laura^s 
guardian. Queer, homely, shy David — how good he had 
been to her; how like a tender woman he had nursed her 
father in his long sickness, how well she had liked him in 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 31 

spite of his shy and awkward ways; hut how changed, how 
cold he had seemed when she returned from abroad, no 
longer his girl- ward, but a married woman, worshiping her 
handsome, grand-looking husband, and indignant because 
David did not seem impressed with his god-like attributes. 

This train of thought, set in motion by that familiar 
strain, passed swiftly through her brain. She had started 
up, saying hurriedly: 

I must go at once; it must be late.^^ 

One moment,^^ Carleon pleaded, clearing his brow of 
the frown that had gathered on it when the music broke 
the charm he was weaving. But again the soft, beseeching 
strains of the violin intervened. Can it be David play- 
ing? thought Laura. 

Not an instant, she answered promptly. It must 
be past sunset. 

She walked to the door of the grotto with decision, Car- 
leon following, mentally execrating the musician, and mar- 
veling who had dared to take such a liberty. When they 
had passed out of the grotto, he looked about for the in- 
trusive player. Laura looked' around eagerly, but instead 
of David she saw a venerable man with a flowing white 
beard. It was the same man who had played second violin 
in the band of hired musicians. She remembered him par- 
ticularly, for she had noticed his watching her from under 
his slouched hat, in a fixed, queer way. 

But she gave little thought to him now. She was 
alarmed at the lateness of the hour. It was past sunset; 
the after-glow was almost gone. 

They are waiting for me, I am sure,^^she cried, hurry- 
ing on along the serpentine walks, and paying little heed 
to her escort. 

She came to the paved circle in front of the mansion; 
there was no one to be seen: no sound but the plash of the 
fountain. Dancers and musicians were gone. 

They have gone down to the boats, she said, and hur- 


32 kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 

ried on to the landing. It was silent, deserted; the boats 
were gone. One of Carleon^s servants — the tall, impassive 
Swiss gardener — was leisurely straightening a rose-bush 
close by. Laura appealed to him. 

Where are they?^' she cried, breathlessly. Where 
are the party from Wallport?^^ 

Gone,^^ was the laconic reply. 

‘‘ What, gone and left me! Oh, how could they? It 
can not be possible. They could not treat me so. 

There has been a mistake, said Carleon, coming to 
her side. My housekeeper informs me that Mrs. La Eue 
sent her maid to look for you, to tell you that they were 
about leaving. The girl brought back word as from your- 
self, that the party need not wait for you; you would follow 
them presently. 

Oh, how utterly false — as you know. I saw no one, I 
had no message. This is very provoking. Mr. Carleon, I 
must trouble you to send me home at once.^^ 

And I am very sorry that I can not do it. There is 
not another boat on the island. I put them all at the serv- 
ice of the lawn party and the musicians. They will not be 
returned until to-morrow. 

Oh, you are certainly jesting! ^^o boat of any kind 
on the island? Any sort of water-craft will answer — no 
matter how old and leaky. 

There is nothing here in the shape of a boat, I grieve 
to say. The high tide last week carried off two of my 
skiffs, and Gaunt is coasting in the yacht. It is very un- 
fortunate. 

She wrung her hands together passionately. 

Oh, for pity^s sake take me away from here,^^ she 
pleaded. Think of some way, I entreat you.^^ 

Dear Mrs. Montcalm, it pains me to see you so dis- 
tressed, but it is impossible to do what you ask. The boats 
will return early in the morning. My housekeeper will 
make you comfortable. 


kildee; or, the sphihx oe the red house. 33 

She did not answer. She hardly heard him. She was 
looking at the tide rolling in and saying to herself that 
death under its green waves were far preferable to the life 
that would be hers after she had stayed one night on x^phro- 
dite Island. Oarleon came nearer and said, with tender 
reproach in his tones: 

Is it such a hardship to stay a few more hours in my 
home when it makes me so happy?’ ^ 

She turned on him with the sense of having been caught 
in a snare. 

You and Mrs. La Eue have planned this,” she cried, 
her eyes flashing scorn upon him. 

I? Ah, dear Mrs. Montcalm, how unjust, how cruel 
you are! It is the fault alone of the servant who invented 
a message to save herself trouble. Be reconciled to the un- 
lucky accident. Perhaps” — he went on, speaking yet 
lower, and leaning over her — perhaps it is better as it is. 
Had you gone home to-night, you might have met with in- 
sult, violence, from your husband — with none to protect 
you from his anger. You are safe here — with me — with 
one who loves you, dearest. ” 

He laid his hand upon hers as he spoke. She flung it off 
and darted from his side. Pale, panting, but breathing 
scorn in every look, she faced him, and her clear tones 
rang out: 

I would find safety under these black waters first.” 

A small boat shot in sight from a cedar-fringed inlet close 
to her. It contained only one man. A few strokes brought 
it to the beach, and the man leaped out. Laura uttered a 
cry of joy. 

David, David!” she exclaimed, springing to meet him. 
He took one of the outstretched hands, placed it upon 
his arm; then he turned with her to the boat, noticing 
Carleon only by one withering look. 

Curse the luck! His threat was not to be relied upon. 

He has sent his hireling after her,” muttered Oarleon, 

2 




KILDEE; OR^ the SPHIi^X OF THE RED HOUSE. 


under his breath. He returned the look of Holt with a dis- 
dainful stare. 

“ Are you but just come to the island?^ ^ he asked. 

No/’ was the answer. “I haye been here for some 
hours. ” 

Ah! I was not aware my little party had been so hon- 
ored/^ Carleon sneered. 

It is an honor for an honest man to set foot upon 
Aphrodite Island/’ David answered, as he pushed off from 
the shore. 


OHAPTEE IV. 

The sudden relief that Laura experienced found vent in 
a nervous paroxysm of tears. Holt did not attempt to 
soothe her. He waited in silence. Presently she dried her 
tears, and sat calm but very pale, her hands folded listlessly 
on her lap. At length she spoke: 

David, you said 3^ou had been on the island for hours; 
why did I not see you?” 

‘‘You did see me,” he answered. 

“ It was you, then, who played in the band; it was you 
in that disguise, and it was you who was near the grotto,” 
she added, a deep blush covering her face. 

“ Yes, it was I.” 

“ I don’t know what you thought of me,” she said flur- 
riedly, “ but if you know — ” 

She stopped and looked keenly at him. 

“ He sent you to the island to spy upon me,” she said 
with a quick scornful change in her voice. 

“ You are wrong,” David answered gently. “ Captain 
Montcalm knew nothing of my coming. He had not re- 
turned when I came away. I did not know you had any 
idea of being in that island party until you were gone. 
Had I known, I would have done my best to persuade, to 


KILDEE; or, the SPHIJiTX OF THE RED HOUSE. 35 

prevent you from going. As it was I could only follow 
you that I might be near should you need a friend. I put 
on the disguise and got in with the musicians because I 
wanted to look on without being recognized, and because I 
knew that, uninvited and only known to Carleon as a per- 
son in the employment of a man he dislikes, I would stand 
a poor chance of being admitted to the grounds. 

And you went to watch over me? That was kind — 
that was like the David of the dear old days; and I thank 
you.^^ 

The sad cadence of her voice went to David ^s heart. She 
looked so stricken he longed to comfort her as he had been 
wont to do when she came to him with her childish sorrows; 
but he forbore. He had always exercised stern control 
over himself; and she had never suspected his secret — never 
guessed that her father^s protege — the boy he had taken 
from a miserable, motherless home, and brought up in liis 
own house, had cared for her other than as a brother. 

I deserve no thanks, Laura; I promised your father I 
would try to watch over you as a sister. I wish I could 
have better fulfilled that trust — but circumstances have 
lately made it difficult — I — 

You think I am not worth watching over lately,^ ^ she 
interrupted with a bitter little laugh. You seem to have 
given me up. You work for Captain Montcalm in that 
dusty office from morning till night. You are devoted to 
his interests; and you never knew him of old; but I who 
have sat by you at the same hearth for so many years, I 
whom you have nursed in your arms when I was a fretful, 
feeble, motherless child — I whom you used to care for so 
kindly, am now thrown out of your heart. You never 
come near me except for that formal Sunday dinner, when 
there are always others. Captain Montcalm and his busi- 
ness are ever in your mind, but I have no place there — or 
anywhere, I think. 

David looked at her helplessly. He could not tell her 


36 KILDEE^ OK^ THE SPHINX OF THE RED HOUSE. 

why he now so seldom came into her presence — why he 
could not resume the old brotherly, fatherly relation he 
had once sustained to her. He could not tell her that it 
was for her sake he sat poring over account books in that 
dingy office of Captain Montcalm ^s warehouse — that it was 
only to be near her and watch over her welfare that he had 
given up the profession of law in which he had embarked 
with promise, turned his back on his native town and state, 
and followed the wedded pair to Wallport, there to seek 
and fill the place of a book-keeper in Captain Montcalm^s 
newly purchased warehouses. From the first day that the 
bride and groom arrived from Europe, he had foreseen that 
the marriage would not be a happy one. He had loved 
Laura always in his still, quiet way — he had nursed in his 
heart the hope to win her when he should have achieved 
something of a reputation among men; he had looked 
upon her as scarcely more than a child, and he was sur- 
prised, almost appalled, to see the strength of passion with 
which she loved this cold, moody man, who hardly made a 
pretense of responding to her affection. A vague story 
concerning Captain Montcalm^s marriage in Mexico had 
at one time found its way into some of the daily newspapers, 
and this now came to David^s mind. He tried to investi- 
gate it, but the dust of years had settled upon the story and 
its traces were covered up. He could only hope it was 
mythical, but his anxiety for Laura caused him to sacrifice 
his business prospects in his native town and follow her to 
her new home. He would watch over her at a distance, he 
said to himself; he would fulfill her father ^s trust as best 
he might. If the time came when she needed a true friend 
he would be near at hand. 

But he could give her no hint of this; so he only said, in 
reply to her accusation: 

Our lives lie so widely apart. Mine is filled with work; 
3"ours with leisure and friends — and gayety. 

Friends — gayety, she echoed mockingly. I have iv> 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 37 

friends. God help me — not one. Gayety! Is it possible 
you have not seen, what all the world about us knows, that 
I am that pitiable thing— an unloved wife? Have you 
cared so little about me that you could not read in my face 
— in my restless, forced gayety — the tokens of a disappointed 
heart? You have thought me frivolous, no doubt. With 
your ideas of wifely dignity, you have condemned me as 
giddy, imprudent, careless of my husband's wishes. But 
what can you know of the goading misery that drives a 
neglected wife into seeking distraction abroad? When I 
accepted the attention of Carleon it was with the hope of 
stinging my husband's heart into life through jealousy; I 
only roused his anger — ^his self-love. He coolly ordered 
me to give up the only associates I had. He declared I 
was bringing dishonor upon his head. Dishonor upon 
him ! I think the fiends in the bottomless pit must laugh 
to hear a man who is steeped to the lips in falsehood and 
treachery accuse his wife of dishonoring him by some little 
act of imprudence to which she has been driven by the fever 
of a starved and lonely heart. Well, I would have obeyed 
him, for I still believed in him; I still looked up to him as 
one who stood on a moral height — grand, if cold. He 
stands there no longer. I know him now; I know his 
falsehood to me, his baseness to another of my sex. Yes-^ 
terday evening I knew all; and now — now I have dis- 
obeyed him and I will defy him. He has threatened 
cast me ofi; it is I who will expose him to the world he is 
so anxious to stand well with. The world shall know to- 
morrow that* he deserted one wife and has married another 
whom he openly owns he never cared for. " 

Laura!" exclaimed David aghast, have you found 
out that — I mean, what is it you suspect?" 

She caught at the meaning of his half-finished sentence. 

Yes, I have found out," she said. David, I see you 
knew it before. You knew about that woman and her 
child, and you would not tell me!" 


38 kildee; ok> the sphiStx of the red house. 

It was too late to tell you. You were his wife; and I 
had only heard a rumor. 

Too late for my hajDpinesS;, not too late for my pride. 
He shall see that.^^ 

How came you to know: Who could be so cruel as to 
tell you?’’^ 

I found it out through a note written by the Spanish 
woman to my— her husband, asking him to meet her. 

The note may have been a forgery. 

“ Stop. I went to the place of appointment; I con- 
cealed myself, and I saw and heard — I heard him say he 
had never cared for me; that is enough. 

Her clasped hands dropped upon her lap; her desolate 
gaze went over the darkening water. David burned with 
indignation against the man who wronged her. But only 
in this man^s love would she ever be happy. He believed 
this; so he said, gently: 

Eemember, dear Laura, this woman is not his wife. 
She has no claim — 

No claim! She has his love. She is the mother of 
his child. What are a few words mumbled by a priest to 
such a claim? I will proclaim her right. I will publish 
my wrong and his villainy. It is to tell him that I will do 
this that I am returning to his house to-night. He is proud 
of his high standing in society. At least it will sting his 
pride to have his baseness made public. He may do his 
worst. I am steeled to meet it.^^ 

Laura, promise me that you wdll not speak those vio- 
lent words to-night. Do not have that interview with your 
husband until you and he are calmer. You know his 
fierce temper; he might — 

Kill me, you would say? Well, let him. He has 
already killed the best part of my being. No; I will say 
all that is in my heart to-night. It is burning in me for 
utterance. I can not keep it back a day, an hour longer. 
To-morrow I will quit his house forever. 


kildee; oe, the sphikx of the bed house. 39 
“ Where will you go?^^ 

I do not know. I have not a creature akin to me — no 
being of my own flesh or blood to protect or befriend me. 
But the world is wide; I shall And a home somewhere. 

Laura, I have something to tell you that may comfort 
you in this crisis. Bather, I have something to give you 
which will tell the sfcory of comfort more fully and tender- 
ly than I can. It is here in my hand — a letter written by 
your father. He intrusted it to me an hour before his 
death. I was to give it to you only in case of a certain 
emergency. I consider that this emergency has arrived. 
I knew of your husband ^s threats; I followed you to the 
island partly to give you this letter. It contains a secret — 
a secret your father kept from you during his life. He 
thought it was not necessary you should know it. It is 
necessary now. Take the letter, read it and act upon it if 
you think best. 

A secret my father kept from me? How strange that 
seems! Had you told me this yesterday morning, it would 
have agitated me beyond words. Now, I seem dead to all 
natural feeling. A reckless spirit possesses me. It seems 
urging me to do something desperate. I am half mad, I 
think.’^ 

He looked at her anxiously. In the light of the newly 
risen moon, her eyes gleamed with wild luster. 

She ought never to have that interview with her hus- 
band to-night, he thought, but he knew her strong-willed 
nature; he had little hope of preventing her. 

The boat had been steadily pushed across the placid, 
almost waveless bay. It was now approaching shore. 
Further down at the water’s edge, loomed the dark ware- 
house in which David worked; and beyond gleamed the 
lights of the city. The boat touched the wharf; David 
helped Laura to shore, found a carriage, and entering with 
her they were driven to the door of her husband’s house. 

It stood under the tree-shadows, silent and dark, but foi* 


40 kildee; ok, the sphihx of the red house. 

a ray of lamp-light which streamed through the half-closed 
window-shutter of a room on the lower floor. 

'^He is here/^ Laura said under her breath. ‘‘He is 
in his study. 

David felt her Angers tremble, as she put the latch-key 
into his hand. 

“ I will not ring,^^ she said. “ There is no one to an- 
swer it. The cook, with her son, the house-boy, has gone 
to see her sick mother, and my maid got leave to go to a 
party this evening. 

“ And there is no one besides Captain Montcalm in the 
house? Laura, you must permit me to go in with you — to 
be present at this meeting with your husband. 

But she refused with a gesture of almost angry decision. 

I am not afraid of him. He would not dare lift his 
hand to me. If he did,^^ she said, drawing something from 
her belt, and holding it up, “if he did dare,^^ she repeated 
with a short, hard laugh, “ he will find that I know how to 
use this.''^ 

The moonlight gleamed on a keen, tiny blade of blue 
steel, and on its jeweled hilt. He had never before seen 
it drawn out of its golden sheath, though he had often seen 
the st range-looking ornament in Laura ^s girdle, and he 
knew that it was an heir-loom in her family. 

Its gleam at this moment, and the kindred gleam in 
Laura^s eyes, filled him with dread. 

“ Dearest Laura, he began; but she snatched the key 
from his hand and unfastened the door herself. As she 
was going in, she turned and laid her hand on his arm. 

“ Dear David, forgive me,^^ she said, “ you have done 
me a great kindness to-night. I thank you with all my 
heart. Good-bye. . 

“You will read the letter — your father^ s letter to-night 
— immed lately T ^ 

“ To-night,^'’ she said, and closed the door between them. 


kildee; ok^ the sphihx op the ked house. 41 


CHAPTEE V. 

Two hours later^ Mrs. Montcalm^s inaid^ Frances, re- 
turned from the party, escorted by her sweetheart. She 
was bidding him good-night on the back porch, when the 
door suddenly opened and a woman came out. She was 
wrapped in a dark mantle; her features were muffled in a 
veil. But as she hurried past the girl, her veil caught on 
Fanny ^s shoulder, and the astonished maid saw the face of 
her mistress. So white the face looked in that swift, moon- 
lit glimpse, that the girl came near screaming. The ap- 
parition was gone before she recovered herself. 

It was my mistress she said, in a terrified whisper to 
her companion. 

It was Mrs. Montcalm, he answered; but how pale 
she looted 

Something is wrong; something has happened. I am 
frightened half to death. DonT go away, Harry, Wait 
here on the porch awhile. 

She opened the door. The hall was dark and silent. 
She groped her way to the table, where she had left lamp 
and matches. Her foot slipped in something; she stooped 
to investigate, and dipped her fingers in a warmish fiuid 
that seemed to have run along the fioor. With her heart 
in her mouth, she seized a match-box and struck a light. 
As it hashed up, her shriek ran through the silent house. 
The light had shown her her fingers dabbled with blood. 

Her screams startled the inmates of the neighboring 
houses. Soon the hall was filled with men, and hurried 
questions were put to the excited girl. 

She could only point to the stream of blood on the fioor. 
It had run from under the library door. The door was 
open; it was not locked, but force was requii:ed to push it 


42 KILDEE; ok, the SPHIi^^X of the red house. 

open, for a dead weight lay against it. The body of Cap- 
tain Montcalm was stretched upon the floor in a little pool 
of blood. His upturned face bore the stamp of violent 
passion. On his breast glittered something like a star. It 
was the hilt of a tiny poinard. As one drew out the keen, 
slender blade, reeking with blood, exclamations burst from 
the group gathered around the body. More than one 
recognized the glittering hilt by its sinister design, a cobra, 
the raised hood studded with a single ruby, the eyes two 
diamond sparks. They had seen it worn by Mrs. Mont“ 
calm, though they thought it then only a curious and 
costly ornament. Now, as they saw the dripping blade, 
the eyes of each said: She did the deed. He denounced 
her for her conduct, and she stabbed him with this seem- 
ing toy she wore. 

The thought burst into vehement utterance when Mrs. 
Montcalm could nowhere be found, and when the maid told 
her story, corroborated by her lover, of meeting her mis- 
tress flying from the house. Hers was almost the only evi- 
dence in the case, beyond the testimony that Mrs. Mont- 
calm had that day gone to Aphrodite Island in deflance of 
her husband^ s wishes, that she had worn the jewel-hilted 
poniard (in its gold sheath) stuck in her silken girdle, and 
that she had returned from the island in company with her 
husband^ s clerk. 

David Holt was found in bed in his room at the ware- 
house, but he was in no condition to give evidence. His 
senses were locked up in a stupor, which proved to be the 
prelude of a brain fever. It kept him at death^s door for 
many weeks, and when at last it released its hold, it left 
him a wreck in mind. Friends from his native place came 
for him and took him back with them. 

Not a doubt of Laura Montcalm^s guilt was entertained, 
even by those who had been her friends. The State offered 
a reward of flve hundred dollars for the detection and ap- 
prehension of Bayard Montcalm ^s murderer, and five thou- 


kildee; oe, the sphihx of the ked house. 43 

sand dollars was added to this by General Montcalm^ the 
elder brother of the murdered man. General Montcalm 
was one of the oldest and most honored citizens of Wall- 
port. He had loved his brother devotedly. 

Bayard was much younger than he, and as a youth had 
been wayward, but brilliant and lovable. The general had 
regarded him with a mixture of fraternal affection and fath- 
erly care and solicitude. His death in this terrible manner 
was a shock which at first paralyzed the general, then 
strung every fiber of his being to the vengeful desire to find 
and punish the slayer. He felt firmly assured that this 
was Laura Montcalm, and that she had fled to Miles Car- 
leon for concealment. Carleon scornfully threw open his 
house and grounds at Aphrodite Island to the inspection of 
the police. A thorough search was made, but without re- 
sult. 

Still there were many who believed that the fair fugitive 
was concealed in some secret portion of the oddly built 
mansion, or in some nook of the intricately planned 
grounds. Others believed that she had drowned herself 
after committing the desperate act. 

A veil, with the initials of her name embroidered in the 
corner, and tracks, which corresponded with the size of her 
slender feet, were found at the water ^s edge. 

But in discredit of this theory it was asserted that a 
small malachite box, in which she kept money and valuable 
jewels, was missing. 

The police force of the city bent its energies to finding 
the missing woman. Telegraph wires had at once flashed 
a description of her along every line. Every vessel and 
every railway train that left Wallport underwent detective 
scrutiny. 

But all in vain. No clew was obtained to the woman 
whose name had become a by- word of shame and crime. 


44 kildee; ok, the sphinx of the red house. 


CHAPTEE VI. 

‘‘ Not for your silver bright, 

But for your winsome daughter.” 

Months went by. More than a year had elapsed since 
the tragedy at Wallport. Still the murder remained a mys- 
tery. The police had been baffled : Laura Montcalm had 
not been seen or heard of. 

One day. General Montcalm dispatched a note to the 
office of the Daily Eattler,^^ requesting that young Hall 
— a brilliant attache of that paper — should come and see 
him in his study. 

Hazard Hall was one of the generaPs coterie of youthful 
pets. The old ex-soldier and politician was no fossil. He 
loved dearly to gather young men of talent about him — 
keen, enthusiastic fellows, who had their way in the world 
to carve by their own wits. Their bold theories, their 
sanguine views, revivified him. He was wont to say that 
in their enthusiasm lay the seed of progress. It was better 
than the cautious judgment of age. 

Shortly after he had come to Wallport with the hope to 
better his fortunes, young Hall had rendered a service to 
General Montcalm (saved him from being injured in a 
street-car accident), and thus had made his acquaintance 
and been invited to his house. The general listened with 
interest to Hazard^ s comically told but pathetic account of 
his battle with poverty, drew out the young fellow^s ideas 
upon political and social questions, laughed at some of his 
extreme notions, and finally took him by the hand and in- 
troduced him to the proprietors of the Eattler — a new, 
live paper which was doing its best to supplant the two 
dull dignified dailies of the city. 


kildee; ok, the sphinx of the red house. 45 

Full of brains and vim — worth a dozen of any man 
you have on your staff/^ was the generaFs recommendation 
of his favorite to the managing editor of the Eattler.'’^ 
And the latter found the eulogy was pretty well deserved. 

* The new attache at once brought himself into notice by 
the skill and ingenuity with which he traced out some welh 
covered-up frauds in the late municipal administration, and 
the daring with which he exposed them. 

The general sat in his study — a pleasant room hr his 
large, old-fashioned town residence — when Hazard Hall 
was announced. He held out his hand to the young jour- 
nalist, and smiled paternally into his dark, eager face; then 
drew up a seat for him in front of his own easy-chair, and 
with characteristic promptness entered upon the subject 
that occupied his mind. 

My boy,'’’ he said, the clever way you ferreted out 
those frauds in our city government proves that you are 
keen on the scent — that you have the born instinct of the 
detective. 

And you have sent for me to declare that it is my des- 
tiny to be the American Lecoq?’^ interposed Hazard, smil- 
ing into the generaFs face in his half-impudent, half-con- 
fiding way. 

I have sent for you to ask that you will — if so please 
you — undertake a little in that line for me.'’^ 

For you, general?^^ 

Yes. You were not here at the time; but you heard, 
you know, that my brother — my dear and only brother — 
was found dead in his room, murdered. 

Yes, general. 

And you know that the murderer has escaped; that he 
— no, let us speak out plainly, she — has never been traced. 
The police here are a stupid lot. They have no imagina- 
tion. A man can not be a good detective without it. Im- 
agination suggests probabilities which research may verify. 
Now, I want you to look into the matter; to examine the 


46 kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 

inquest evidence and see if some idea is not suggested 
which may lead to getting upon the track of the criminal/^ 
Hazard did not answer for a minute. He had his hands 
full already. The Rattler had determined to bring 
forward an independent candidate for governor against the 
regular nominees, one of whom was Ira Heathcliff, present 
mayor of Wallport. The fight would be a hard one. His 
pen would be called upon to do vigorous work. 

Seeing his hesitation, the general said: 

You know what reward has been offered. I will add 
to it if you think it not enough, and any favor beside I can 
do you— 

Oh, the reward is ample. If I undertake it, it will be 
for your sake, general, not for the reward.^'’ 

But still he hesitated. 

‘‘ Why do the roses bloom?” 

sung a rich, sweet voice outside. It was the voice of Honor 
Montcalm, the generaks only child — the image of her dear 
mother, whose beauty had shone supreme at a foreign court. 

Honor was walking in the garden. Hazard could see 
her from the window; a tall, stately girl, dressed in white 
with a cluster of red carnations on her breast. The low 
sun glinted on her dark gold hair, her white neck and 
brow. She looked a creature made to walk among lilies 
and roses. 

Well?^^ said the general, breaking the pause. 

‘‘ Well, sir, I wdll undertake it,^^ Hazard answered, and 
he added to himself: 

“ But ’tis not for your silver bright, 

But for your winsome daughter.” 

After a few suggestions from General Montcalm, Hazard 
rather hurriedly took his leave. That wdiite vision in the 
garden had put murder and detection out of his mind. 
He went out of the room thinking to join her. But on 


kildee; ok, the sphihx of the bed house. 47 

reaching the piazza he found himself forestalled. Some 
one else had joined Miss Montcalm in the garden — some 
one who walked confidently at her side, her hand resting 
on his arm. Hazard knew that tall, upright, square-shoul- 
dered figure. A look of strong dislike came into his face. 

A cold-blooded, purse-proud upstart! does he think to 
win her?^^ he said, between his set teeth. 

He had seen that Mayor Heathcliff — the rich mill-owner 
— before so indifferent to women — had suddenly entered the 
list of Honor Montcalm^s lovers, and he had heard that she 
favored his suit. But this he did not, would not believe. 
He shut his eyes to everything that might crush his hopes. 
With the impetuous ardor and sanguine self-belief of his 
nature, he had determined that the possession of Honor 
Montcalm should be the goal of his ambition, She liked 
him; she showed this frankly enough. His brilliant talk 
amused and aroused her. She admired the ingenious dar- 
ing of his intellect, his dark and handsome face. She per- 
mitted him sometimes to be her escort. Surely this was 
encouraging. 

Yet there was a difference in her manner to him and to 
Mr. Heathcliff. Hazard noted this now — in the way she 
leaned on Heathcliff^s arm and looked up into his face. 
She, who for all her sweetness, was so proud, was little 
wont to lean upon or to look up to any one. Hazard^'s face 
grew dark. 

^^Yet I will not give her up without a struggle,^ Mie 
muttered, as he closed the gate and turned into the street. 
He had not been seen by the two who walked in the garden 
in the fragrant twilight. 


48 kildee; OB, the sphihx of the bed house. 


CHAPTER VIL 

Hazabd walked rapidly back to the office of the Rat- 
tler/^ and mounted the two flights of stairs that led up to 
his den — the eight by ten sanctuary in which he did 
his share of the daily scribbling and scissoring for the paper. 
A glance around this small sanctum would have told an in- 
terested observer that there were mixed elements in the 
character of the occupant. The walls were covered with 
engravings; here a pure-browed Evangeline, there a bold- 
eyed danseitse in fleshings; here a St. John with seraph 
face, and opposite, a burly prize-fighter, stripped to the 
waist. A tiny glass on the desk held a white tea-rose, and 
in a pigeon-hole just above it was a bottle of beer and a 
half -smoked cigar. 

The afternoon^s mail had been brought in and the desk 
was piled with unopened newspaper exchanges. Atop of 
these were two letters. Hazard had few friends and no 
kinspeople, so his personal correspondence was limited. 
He took up the letter on top carelessly, opened it and 
glanced over the half dozen unimportant lines it contained. 
His eye lighted on the superscription of the other letter, 
and with a quick change of countenance, he took it up and 
broke the seal. Out dropped a bank-note of a hundred 
dollars. This, inclosed in a sheet of paper on which was 
written, Please accept, was all the envelope contained. 
He was not surprised. He suspected what the contents 
would be when he saw the handwriting on the address. 
Twice before, since he had been in Wallport, had he re- 
ceived similar anonymous gifts through the mail. The en- 
velopes were postmarked Wallport — dropped letters there- 
fore; but who could have sent them. Not his friend, the 
general; he would do nothing so mysterious, even if he was 


kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 49 

inclined to play the benefactor in this way, which he was 
not. Hazard could not conjecture who the mysterious 
donor could be. He scrutinized the chirography on the en- 
velope. The letters were cramped, and written backward 
— evidently a disguised writing. He looked at the bill with 
mingled feelings of pleasure and dissatisfaction. The 
money was not out of season. His pay was small, and his 
tastes, in some things, inclined to the luxurious; but he was 
proud and sensitive; he could not bear that any one should 
suppose him to be in want of money. Nevertheless, he 
had spent the sums that had come to him previously. He 
had put them aside at first and hesitated about making use 
of them for some time, till urged by necessity his scruples 
had been set aside. But now he felt increased repugannce 
to using money that had come into his possession in this 
irregular way. Love and ambition had stimulated his 
pride. Moreover, the strangeness of this gift forced itself 
more and more upon his attention. He connected it with 
the mystery of his parentage. The sender of this money 
must know who were his parents, and why he had never 
been told of them; why he had been sent to the Catholic 
school of St. Mary^s among the Maryland mountains when 
he was a little child, and there had been reared and educat- 
ed without once seeing any being who claimed kinship with 
him or guardianship over him. His expenses had been 
paid up to his sixteenth birthday by money transmitted 
through the mails, to the president of the college— money 
accompanied by no name or address. AVhen he was six- 
teen these remittances ceased — the boy fancied himself 
slighted because he was a dependent, and ran away from 
school. He made his way to Cincinnati, and did odd jobs 
for a living, meanwhile picking up a knowledge of type-set- 
ting. Accident showed his employer the boy^s fine faculty 
for . writing, and he became a reporter on a daily paper. 
The pay was poor, but the training and discipline were in- 
valuable.’ He was a rapid and forcible writer at twenty- 


50 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

two, when he drifted to Wallport, and through General 
Montcalm^s influence, was taken upon the staff of the 

Eattler.^^ 

He had a strong belief in himself and his future. Partly 
this came from natural self-confidence and partly it was 
caused by the prediction of the noted spirit-medium, Mme. 
Sylvestre. Like all imaginative persons he had a vein of 
superstition in his nature, and when this gaunt, gray-eyed 
sorceress gave hirn a history of his past life, true in every 
detail, so far as he knew it himself — which she could well 
do, being a mind-reader — and then informed him that he 
would succeed beyond his hopes, and become rich and in- 
fluential, her words took hold upon his imagination and 
colored his hopes. She told him also that his parents 
were dead, and that he had been left to the charge of a 
dishonest guardian who had swindled him out of his patri- 
mony. This conjecture had been floating about in his own 
brain for a long time, and her subtle mind-reading instinct 
had probably perceived it. 

I will ferret out the mystery of these anonymous 
gifts Hazard said to himself. If I can get a clew to 
the donor, I suspect it will lead me straight to that rascally 
guardian, who has cheated me and kept out of my sight 
or knowledge, enjoying my fortune while I am earning my 
bread by the hardest sort of drudgery. 

As he spoke. Hazard attacked the big pile of newspapers, 
tearing off their wraiDpers and scanning the columns with 
his rapid, practiced eye, clipping a paragraph here and 
there and putting it between the leaves of his note-book for 
reference or comment. 

The last paper had undergone this rapid examination, 
and Hazard had dashed off a page or two of those short, 
pungent satirical paragraphs in the writing of which he ex- 
celled, when on putting his hand into his pocket to get a 
fresh pencil, he felt and drew out a note which General 
Montcalm had given him, with the remark that the in- 


kildee; ok^ the sphihx of the eed house. 51 

formation it contained about a city matter would make a 
good item. The note was from Mayor Heathcliff — the late 
Democratic nominee for Governor — Honor Montcalm^s 
suitor. Hazard read it and sat musing half absently. Sud- 
denly he scrutinized the writing more closely. Something 
in the turn of a capital letter had struck him with the idea 
that there was a resemblance between this writing and that 
of his unknown patron. He caught up the envelope that 
had contained the money and put it beside Heathcliff ^s 
note. AVas it only his fancy, or was there a resemblance in 
the shape of certain letters? He at once remembered that 
a noted expert was then in the city on a business mission; 
he would take the envelope and note to him, together with 
a number of specimens of other handwritings, and see Avhat 
he could make out of it. He put the two pieces of paper 
in his pocket, and going into the room of the business man- 
ager, asked for and obtained a goodly number of letters 
that had been worked over and thrown into the waste- 
basket. A few minutes later, he was ushered into the 
room of the expert, a taciturn man with a face like a tomb- 
stone. 

Hazard put the pile of letters on the table before him, 
among them the note from Mayor Heathcliff, and giving 
him the envelope that had contained the money, said: 

Can you tell me if any of these letters were written by 
the same hand that wrote this address?^^ 

In half an hour I can tell yoii/^ replied the solemn- 
looking man. 

Very well, I will wait.^^ 

To economize time Hazard took out his note-book and 
began to write, while the expert examined the letters, 
bringing each one within a few, inches of his nose, and 
peeping at it intently through his short-sighted glasses. 

Before that half hour was quite out, the oracle had 
spoken. 

The handwriting of this letter and that upon the en- 


52 kildee; ok^ the sphinx op the red house. 

velope is the same. The latter is disguised^ but it was 
written by the same hand as the other, 

Hazard started up and went to the table. The letter the 
expert had indicated was the note to General Montcalm, 
bearing Ira Heathcliff^s firm signature. 


CHAPTEE VIII. 

Mayor Heathclipf sits in his study — a pleasant room 
in his elegant home on Evergreen Street. A striking pres- 
ence is that of Ira Heathcliff, Mayor of Wallport. Tall, 
massively built, with a firmly poised head, a resolute mouth 
and steadfast gray eyes — such a face as might well belong 
to a man who had worked his way up to fortune and posi- 
tion. The lines on his brow show that this rise has not 
been achieved without a battle; and a peculiar expression 
in his gray eye — a large thoughtfulness, shading into mel- 
ancholy — seems to hint that he has also had to do battle 
against himself. 

But it is hard to read eyes so full of deep meaning as Ira 
Heathcliff's. Just now they are crossed by changing lights. 
He is opening and glancing over the papers and letters the 
mail-carrier has deposited on his table. As he reads the 
various comments — caustic or congratulatory — upon his 
prospects of political elevation, his face changes. With all 
his stern strength of nature, he is not proof against a thrill 
of pride as he reads the praises of his integrity and fitness 
for an office of trust. But the bitter flings of his enemies 
kindle in him only amusement or mild scorn. He has 
learned to expect rebuffs and to disregard them. Only 
one of the newspaper thrusts really wounds him — a few 
paragraphs of keen, biting satire in the columns of the 

Eattler,^^ the new daily, which has a rattlesnake as its 
figurehead, with the motto: ‘‘ Nemo me impime lacessit/’ 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 53 

The thrust is in the French style, delicate and deadly. He 
recognizes the hand that dealt it. 

Et tils Brute he says; with a smile half sad, half 
uynical. 

The next instant he forgets all about the Eattler,^^ for 
his eye has lighted upon the superscription of a letter which 
changes the current of his thoughts. He breaks the seal 
and reads with a frown the few lines, in a lady^s hand, 
written upon the square white card which falls from the 
envelope. He tosses the card upon the ta])le, exclaiming: 

It is impossible for a woman to be reasonable. How 
can I humor her when — 

A knock of the door interrupts him. A visitor is an- 
nounced. He bites his lip when the name is given, but 
finally says, Show him in,^^ and Hazard Hall walks in. 
The mayor does not seem to notice his haughty nod, but 
courteously invites him to be seated. But the young man 
walks straight to the table and throws an envelope down 
before Ira Heathcliff. 

My business with you is brief,^^ he says. I want first 
to ask, did you write the address upon that envelope 

The abrupt question, the keen, sudden look, threw 
Heathcliff off his guard. His face fiushed; he half -stam- 
mered: 

Why do you ask me thisr^^ 

I see you did write it,^^ Hazard returned. You sent 
the money that is inclosed in it; you sent a similar sum 
twice before in the same way. Now, tell me what is the 
meaning of these anonymous gifts? What business have 
you to send me money? What right have I to it?^^ 
Heathcliff did not speak for an instant; then he said: 

Eegard it as a mere friendly present, sent through me 
by one who takes an interest in your welfare. 

Who is this person, and why does he take an interest 
in me?^^ 

That I can not tell you.^^ 


54 kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 

You not tell me, you mean!^^ the young man 
cried, angrily. 

Have it so then: I will not tell you. 

Nor will you tell me who my parents are, though you 
know. Do you not know? Stay: do not speak yet. I 
will entreat you to tell me who they are — will you do it?^^ 

Once more Heathcliff hesitated, looking even kindly into 
the young face before him, where anxiety had softened the 
expression of haughty distrust with which Hazard had re- 
garded the mayor. 

‘‘No, I can not tell you. Why should you imagine that 
I know?^^ he said at last. 

“ You shall tell it. I will force you Hazard burst 
forth, thrusting his clinched hand almost in Heathcliff^'s 
face. 

The mayor^s cool, contemptuous eye brought back the 
boy^s self-control. 

“ The money you last sent is there,^^ Hazard said more 
calmly, pointing to the envelope. “ The other sum I will 
return to you as soon as I can. I will not accept the 
money unless I can know what right I have to it. Doubt- 
less you have most honorable motives for keeping this from 
me.'’^ 

“ What dishonorable motive could I have?^’ 

“ Such as this. I am perhaps heir to a large amount of 
money, which has been confided to your charge. You have 
used it to enrich yourself. As a salve to your conscience, 
you send me a beggarly stipend in this underhand way.^^ 

Anger lightened from Heathclilf ^s eyes. He rose from 
his seat and confronted the young man. 

“ By Heaven!^’ he cried. “ If it were not for one con- 
sideration, I would divulge the whole secret and humiliate 
you to the dust. It would be a fit punishment for your in- 
solence in daring to say such things to me.^^ 

“ Yes, I dare say such things to a man who withholds 
from me what I have a right to know, even if that man be 


KILDEE; pR^ THE SPHIKX OF THE RED HOUSE. 55 

SO great a personage as the owner of Heathcliif Mills, 
Mayor of Wallport, and prospective governor of the state. 
But that last title remains to be won; and you will not 
win it without a fight, for all your money. Money can^t 
muzzle the press, though it may put its chain and collar on 
a few cravens of the pack. We will scent out the secret 
fiaws in that moral record you count so largely upon. We 
will lay bare your motives and schemes. Benefit by tiie 
warning if you can. Adieu, Mayor Heathcliff. If not be- 
fore, we shall meet at your Philippi — the polls. 

Ileathcliff sat motionless for a minute after his impetu- 
ous visitor had vanished through the door-way. His anger 
was gone; his face wore a look of grave perplexity. 

What can be the secret of that boy^s rancor against 
mer'^ he mused. It can not be solely because I have 
withheld from him the source of a benefaction. There 
must be some other reason. 

Not once did it enter his mind that this fiery young 
stripling was a lover of Honor Montcalm, and that jeal- 
ousy was the secret of his bitter animosity to Miss Mont- 
calm ^s favored suitor. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Hazard quitted Heathclifi^s house in a state of high ex- 
citement. That this man knew the secret of his parentage, 
he fully believed; that his parents had left him money, of 
which Heathclifi had defrauded him, he began to suspect; 
but he had no proof; he had no way of forcing the mayor^s 
acknowledgment. His fiery impetuosity would have no 
effect upon the other^s iron firmness. And how contempt- 
uously the massive form of the mill owner had towered 
above him; how scathingly his gray eye had run over the 
slender figure! The boy chafed under the recollection. 

And he is Honor Montcalm ^s favored suitor, was the 
thought that gave added bitterness to his mood. 


56 kildee; ok, the sphinx of the red house. 

But he had no time to engage in speculations, or to form 
visionary plans. He must work; this was a present neces- 
sity. As he turned to enter the office of the Battler, 
he could see in the distance the volumes of black smoke 
pouring out of the tall chimneys of Heathcliff's factory and 
staining the blue sky. 

Curse him!^^ he thought. He has no need to work. 
He will order his phaeton and take his lady love to drive 
this bright afternoon. 

Dyke, the leading editor, looked up from his desk, as 
Hazard was passing on. 

It seems to me you are not attending to your business 
to-day, he said. I sent you the old files of the ^ Eepub- 
lic ^ that you might hunt up that report of Heathcliif ""s 
speech when he ran for Congress five years ago and pick 
out the damaging paragraphs to comment on and show up 
in a strong light; and here you are out of your place — run- 
ning around. 

Hazard vouchsafed no reply, but ran upstairs to his den, 
where he threw himself in a seat before his desk. He 
pulled to him the file of yellow newspapers, but before he 
began to examine them his eyes fell upon the roll of legal 
cap over which he had been poring the night before. They 
were papers relating to the inquest held over the body of 
Captain Montcalm — the statement of the surgeon who ex- 
amined the body, and the evidence of the two servants who 
discovered it and of the persons who lived nearest the house 
in which the murder was committed ; also the testimony of 
other persons who had intimated a knowledge of some cir- 
cumstance that might throw light upon the crime. 

The evidence had seemed of little value to Hazard when 
he looked it over last night; now, as he drew the papers to 
him, half mechanically, a flush mounted to his brow. The 
name of Ira Heathcliff had caught his eye. He read with 
new interest the statement of one John Bowen, a carpenter, 
who attested that, while passing Heathclifi^s house, oe- 


kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 57 

tween nine and ten o^clock on the night of the murder, he 
had seen Laura Montcalm go into the mayor^s yard by a 
side gate and enter the house. He seemed to have been 
' positive of this at first, but on being further questioned, to 
have admitted the possibility of having been mistaken. He 
had caught only a glimpse, he said, of the woman, and he 
barely knew Mrs. Montcalm by sight. On its being shown 
that Mr. Heathcliff^s housekeeper — wearing a dark dress, 
such as Mrs. Montcalm wore that night, according to the 
maid^s testimony — had returned from a wedding-party (the 
same which Fanny attended) at half past ten, it was de- 
cided that this was the woman in black whom John Bowen 
had seen entering Heathcliff^s premises. True, the car- 
penter had at first affirmed it was but half past nine when 
he saw the supposed Mrs. Montcalm, but afterward he 
declared that he wouldn^t give a guess at the time. It 
might have been earlier than ten or it might have been 
later. He wasnT payin^ no . attention to the trifiin^ cir- 
cumstance, anyhow.’^ 

Bowen had been dismissed and his testimony set aside as 
worthless. Nevertheless, Hazard referred to it with an 
interest that deepened into eagerness as he suddenly con- 
nected it with something he had read while he was in the 
mayor’s room. This was nothing less than the note writ- 
ten on the enveloped card which had seemed to annoy 
Heathcliff so greatly. He had tossed it from him, and it 
fell face upward upon the table. There it lay when Hazard 
stood beside the table. During the half minute when he 
waited in suspense for the mayor to answer his question 
about his parents, Hazard ^s glance had casually dropped 
upon the card lying just beneath his eye. Involuntarily, 
without being conscious at first what he was doing, he read 
the three or four lines written on the dainty, silver-edged 
square of pasteboard. Even in that anxious moment, they 
struck him as being very strange, particularly as written to 
the grave and stately mayor, who had never been known to 


58 kildee; oe^ the sphi^tx of the eed house. 

pay attention to any woman but Honor Montcalm. There 
was no address, no signature, only these lines: 

‘‘ I find I can not give up that imprudent whim, as you 
call it. I have set my heart upon it; so humor me this 
once, my best and dearest, and come for me to-night. 
Eemember how long I have been starved for music/^ 

Who had written these words of familiar endearment to 
Ira Heathcliff — ^^the model o'f propriety Hazard said 
bitterly— who had never been known to be more than 
courteous to any woman until he bowed at the shrine of 
General Montcalm ^s daughter. 

What woman could it be who had written these lines, 
and why should her going to the opera be called impru- 
dent'’’? It was not Honor Montcalm. The handwriting 
was not hers. Nor was it like her to express herself in 
this way. 

Hazard determined to be at the opera-house to-night, 
and see the woman who had written this unsigned note to 
the lover of Honor Montcalm. 

He resolved, too, to hunt up John Bowen, and question 
him more closely concerning the woman he had seen enter- 
ing Heathcliff’s gate the night of the murder. With his 
usual energy, increased by excitement and by the thought 
that he was working against Heathcliff, he turned his at- 
tention to the newspaper files, found the mayor’s old 
speech, picked out the damaging paragraphs, and suc- 
ceeded, by detaching these from their context and throw- 
ing the light of strong comment upon them, to give them a 
darker and more damaging significance. He carried 
the article to the senior editor, who read it, with a little 
twinkle of approval in the corners of his eyes, but only 
said, That’ll do,” and sent it into the composing-room. 
As Hazard was going out he called to him. 

Hall,” he said, we have just sent a note to General 
Montcalm, asking permission to announce him as an in- 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 59 

dependent candidate for governor. You had best follow it, 
and get his answer by word of mouth. If he seems to hesi- 
tate, do your best to bring him around. He must be our 
man; no other will answer. 

I will do mon possible , Hazard returned, and hastily 
catching up his hat, he took his way to the Montcalm 
mansion. 

The general was suffering from a slight attack of asthma, 
but he welcomed his young visitor cordially. 

I have just read the letter from your office, he said. 

I thank you and your friends for the compliment im- 
plied in your request. If I were at liberty to consult my 
own inclinations, I might possibly accept your proposal, 
but — 

I trust, general, that you are not going to decline to be 
brought forward in this campaign. I know you have re- 
tired from the political field, but duty to your State calls 
you back. It can not afford to miss you at a time when 
talent and integrity are so much needed at the helm of 
affairs. And the hour is ripe for success. The recent 
nominations created no enthusiasm. Norton, the Republi- 
can nominee, is a worn-out political hack. Heathcliff has 
a local strength, but it will tell against him in the State. 
He is too much identified with Wallport, and every town 
in the State is jealous of Wallport^s prosperity. Your in- 
terests lie in the lower part of the State, and your reputa- 
tion is national. Now is the opportunity for an independ- 
ent candidate to come in and sweep the field. A man able, 
magnetic, of stainless public and private record, with his 
name haloed by memories of noble and self-sacrificing 
deeds in a by-gone struggle — such a man as General Rolff 
Montcalm,^^ Hazard said, rising and bowing before the 
general with the grace of a young Mercury. 

The ex-politician smiled, well pleased; his fine eyes 
kindled. v, 

Your words stir me as the bugle blast stirs the old war- 


60 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

horse, my young friend, he said. The passion for com- 
bat never dies out in the human animal, and I confess I 
feel like rushing to the fray; but there are considerations 
that hold me back. Money rather than merit decides the 
political contests of to-day; and I have not wherewithal to 
gild my armor sufficiently.-’^ 

Oh! as to that, did not Colonel Dyke^s letter explain? 
La Eue, the banker, will furnish a heavy sum for cam- 
paign purposes, as much through hate of Heathcliif as lik- 
ing for you. They are the rival rich men of the city, you 
know. Carleon will give liberally. Heathcliff has gained 
his ill-will by his action against gambhng-saloons and Uie 
liquor business. Of course, general, a man of the world 
like you will not refuse to make use of a stepping-stone 
because it is put down by a hand not exactly clean. But 
may I ask if this money question is the only drawback to 
your acceptance?’^ 

It is not. That difficulty might be overcome. There 
is another which weighs on me more cogently. Mr. Heath- 
cliff is the favorite candidate, and Mr. Heathcliff is my 
daughter’s accepted suitor. 

Accepted?” The blood dropped from Hazard’s glow- 
ing cheeks. 

I did not know; I had not heard that Heathcliff had 
been accepted,” he almost stammered. 

Yes, three days ago. You see, there is an insuperable 
obstacle to my seizing the opportunity offered me.” 

But,” said Hazard, into whose mind had flashed the 
circumstance of the note he had read on Heathcliff ’s desk, 
with its best and dearest.” But what if this obstacle 
were removed — if the engagement were broken?” 

Broken? Ira Heathcliff trifle with a daughter of Mont- 
calm? He would not dare.” 

Such was not my meaning. If Miss Montcalm should 
herself dissolve the engagement?” 

Honor is no coquette. She is deeply attached to her 


ktldee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 61 

betrothed. And Mr. Heathcliff is a man of unblemished 
character — a fine, strong nature. 

Certainly/ interposed Hazard, wincing at this praise 
of his rival. But — pardon my persistence — circum- 
stances, now unforeseen, may occur to break off this tie. 
If this should be, will you then consent to have the ‘ Bat- 
tler ^ announce you as candidate for governor?^^ 

Why, yes; but — 

Thanks; we will be discreetly silent until permitted to 
speak, though a few paragraphs thrown out as feelers may 
not be amiss. Once more, let me ask pardon for my im- 
portunity and thank you for allowing me to trespass so 
long upon your time. Good-morning, general. 

As Hazard walked through the hall on his way out of the 
house, a strain of music arrested his steps. The door of 
the drawing-room was open; he could see Miss Montcalm 
at the piano. She looked up, nodded to him, rose and 
came to the door. 

The white jasmine that caught the folds of her lilac 
muslin robe at the throat was not whiter than the neck 
and face above it. Yet with this niart)le-like skin she had 
very dark eyes and brows, while her hair was a soft-bronze 
yellow — the color of young fern leaves when they first 
unroll. This rare combination increased the strange- 
ness which gave an ideal charm to Honor Montcalm^s 
beauty. 

I have just left your father,^ ^ Hazard said, in explana- 
tion of his presence. Your music drew me like a spell. 
Apropos of music, you are going, of course, to hear the 
opera to-night. For once the entire company is excellent, 
if we may trust the musical critics. It will be a rare treat 
for our city. 

Yes. I am sorry to miss it; but I am due at Mrs. 
DuvaFs to-night. Her party is in compliment to her sis- 
ter, Miss Hunt, and it would be thought unkind if I failed 
to be there. 


62 kildee; oe, the sphi^^x of the eed house. 

I, too, have a card from Mrs. Duval. May I be so 
happy as to attend you?^^ 

am going with my father, if he is well enough. And 
Mr. Heathclilf will accompany us,^^ she added, a faint 
blush rising to her cheek. 

If Heathcliff should fail to come, may I take his 
place 

She looked up in surprise. 

It is not likely that he will fail to come,^' she said. 
Then, seeing that Hazard still looked at her with eyes of 
eager questioning, she added: If anything should keep 
Mr. Heathcliff from coming, I will be glad to avail myself 
of your escort. I do not really think my father will care 
to go.'^^ 

Thank you,^^ Hazard said, and bowed his adieu. 

He had based his request solely upon those words writ- 
ten on the card that lay on Heathchff^s table. 


CHAPTEE X. 

At eight o^clock that evening. Hazard rang the door bell 
at General Montcalm ^s, and was shown into the drawing- 
room. No one was there. He walked the floor impa- 
tiently, listening for Heathclifl^s step. At length, there 
was a silken rustle, and Honor came in, fair and stately, 
wearing pure white with pearls. 

Mr. Heathcliff is late,"’"' Hazard said. 

She answered quietly, He is not coming. I had a note 
from him a few hours ago.^^ 

His dereliction is my good fortune, Hazard whis- 
pered, trembling with elation, as he folded the white opera- 
cloak about her. She seemed to resent his tone. 

Mr. Heathcliff has duties that can not yield to pas- 
times, she said coldly. ‘‘And he supposed my father 
was going with me.^^ 


kildee; ok^ the sphikx of the red house. 63 

Then Heathcliff did not go to the opera. I heard — I 
mean I thought — 

What?^^ she asked, giving him a sharp, level glance. 

Nothing; I spoke too fast. Shall we go now?^^ 

Yes,^^ she answered. But in spite of her haughty in- 
difference, Hazard felt sure that his suggestion about the 
opera had sunk into her mind. He was not surprised at 
her ready assent to his proposal that they should look in at 
the opera before going to the party. 

The curtain was up, the piece was in progress, as they 
took their seats. Hazard swept a hasty glance around the 
theater. He failed to see Heathcliff, but a second more 
careful survey showed him the object of his search, seated 
in a lace-cur feained box. 

And there was a woman beside him. 

Only the outlines of her shape could be seen through the 
lace draperies, and these were half hidden by a light shawl. 
Her face was turned toward the stage. She wore a black 
bonnet and a black gauze veil. Hazard glanced at Honor. 
A slight flush mantled her usually marble cheek, her eyes 
were turned to the box where sat her affianced, who had 
broken his engagement with her, that he might take 
another woman to the opera. And that woman — what 
was she like? Hazard fervently hoped that she might 
prove young and beautiful. He had even a wild fancy that 
behind that veil might be the features of Laura Montcalm. 

As the opera proceeded, the lady, evidently absorbed in 
the music, leaned further out of the box — beyond the 
shadow of the curtains. Hazard was watching her 
through his opera-glass. A sudden noise in the back 
part of the house made her turn her head quickly. Haz- 
ard gave vent to a muttered imprecation. The woman was 
old; the woman was hideously ugly. White hair and 
wrinkles and a nose large and hooked in shape could be 
seen by the aid of the glass in spite of the veil. But this 
was not all. One side of her face was very dark, nearly 


64 : kildee; ok, the sphihx of the red house. 

black. He looked around at Miss Montcalm for an ex- 
planation. He could but notice how Honor’s face had 
brightened. 

It is Miss Faust,” she whispered. The queer old- 
maid recluse who lives by herself in that gloomy old place, 
the Eed House. She is dreadfully disfigured — is hump- 
shouldered and has a purple mark over all one side of her 
face. She is very sensitive to ridicule, wears a veil all the 
time, and never goes out or sees any one but Mr. Heath- 
cliff. All her charities are dispensed through him; she is 
very kind-hearted and liberal to the poor. Her house has 
a wall around it, and a locked gate guarded by a dusky 
Cerberus. I have seen her out but once before; then she 
was riding with Mr. Heathcliff. She is mUsic-mad, he 
told me once; that explains why she is out to-night, invalid 
though she is. Of course, Mr. Heathcliff had to come with 
her. He gave up the party that the poor old recluse might 
not miss a rare pleasure.” 

Her voice had a satisfied tone, which increased Hazard’s 
irritation. He was keenly disappointed. He had hoped 
that singular note might lead to the discovery of some 
secret; but in Honor’s words, he saw a very commonplace 
solution of the mystery. The writer was an invalid, this 
was the reason she feared her friend might think it im- 
prudent ” for her to go out at night. 

•^MVhat a fool I am,” thought Hazard. But why 
should she call him her best and dearest? Truly an odd 
fashion of addressing one’s business manager. Phoo! 
women usually express themselves in an absurdly extrava- 
gant way.” 

Still, do what he might, he could not divest himself of 
the feeling that some mystery surrounded the writer of the 
note. 

A shadowy suspicion stole into his mind. He turned to 
Honor: 

How long has Miss Faust been living here?” he asked. 


kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 65 

Oh! a good many years. She came here with a con- 
sumptive brother when I was a school-girl. The brother 
died; she has only one other relative in the world, Mr. 
Heathclilf says — a brother who lives in Germany. 

She has lived here a good many years/^ repeated Haz- 
ard, and his vague suspicion melted into nothing. But he 
kept the opera-glass fixed upon the veiled woman, watching 
her with a fascinated gaze. 

^7hen the curtain fell upon the first act Hazard and 
Miss Montcalm quitted the theater. Mr. Heathcliff had 
risen to make his way to Honor, but seeing that she was 
leaving, he paused. Their eyes met ; his were anxious, 
deprecating; her beaming look reassured him. Hazard 
bit his lip in vexation. Evidently, Honor Montcalm re- 
garded her future husband with implicit trust. How could 
he shake this proud faith? — he whom she thought of only 
as her father ^s protege? He had the first dance with her 
after they came into the ball-room. His hand trembled as 
it held hers; he feared she must notice it, but she was 
calmly unconscious. He led her to a seat, and a crowd of 
admirers came around her. She left them presently to 
take the arm of an old war comrade of her father, who had 
his wife on his other arm. Hazard stood looking after her 
fascinated, maddened by her sweet cold beauty. 

She is a woman, therefore to be won,^^ he quoted at 
last. Then he quitted the ball-room and went back to the 
opera-house — not entering, only walking back and forth 
before the building, waiting till the play was over. At 
length, the crowd began pouring out of the doors, and soon 
he discerned the mayor^s tall form, overtopping all others; 
and, leaning heavily on his arm, was the veiled woman. 
The defect in her shape was plainly apparent now; and as 
she passed the gas-light near which Hazard was standing, 
he had a full view, through her veil, of the discolored half 
of her face. 

But notwithstanding this, so strong was the impression 


66 kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 

made upon him by the note^ that he determined to follow 
Heathcliff and the eccentric old lady. They entered a 
handsome, quiet-looking carriage and he jumped into a 
waiting cab, spoke a word to the cabman, and was driven 
off in the direction the carriage had taken, keeping that 
vehicle in sight. 

Hazard had seen the Eed House, but never before had 
he noticed how isolated it was even in the midst of the city. 
It was situated on a large corner lot upon a hill, two sides 
of which were cut down to the pavement, forming a high, 
steep terrace, walled with rock. Surmounting this terrace 
was a spiked iron railing, and behind this a thick evergreen 
hedge. The grounds inside were deeply shaded with shrub- 
bery and trees. Several live-oaks and magnolias were 
grouped about the tall, somber house, hiding even the roof 
from the view of those passing along the street below. 

Half a dozen stone stqps in the terrace led up to a gate in 
the iron fence. Heathcliff was handing the veiled woman 
up these steps as Hazard drove slowly past. The carriage 
had been sent away; the mayor was going in with the 
strange recluse. 

The gate was unlocked by the dusky Cerberus, the 
pair passed through, and were lost to sight. 

Hazard signaled the cabman to stop when they reached 
the next block, and he alighted, dismissed the cab, and 
walked back to the gloomy corner house that held the ob- 
jects of his curious attention. 

So high and steep was the terrace that nothing could be 
seen beyond the spiked fence and the overtopping hedge. 
He crossed to the opposite side of the street. Standing 
there, he could see a mass of dark foliage rising up beyond 
the hedge, and through it one gable of the house. But 
there was no gleam of light proceeding from it. 

He recrossed the street, and walked slowly around the 
triangular rock wall. 

He was about to quit the place, a,nd banish the vague 


kildee; ok^ the sphinx of the red house. 67 

idea that any mystery attached to it, when he heard a 
sound of singing proceeding from the dark, silent old house. 
He stood still on the instant, and listened. Yes, it was the 
fragment of an air from the opera — La Favorita^^ — 
which had been sung to-night. 

And what a sweet, rich, fresh voice it was that trilled 
forth, and then was silent, as a bird suddenly sings out in 
its dream on some moonlight night, and then is as sudden- 
ly still. 

The song-burst was just a few notes, that was all. It 
broke off, as though the singer had suddenly been checked 
by some warning thought or word. 

But that strain was enough to excite Hazard^s imagina- 
tion. 

I don^t go from here to-night until I make some effort 
to see what is inside this old house — regular nunnery-look- 
ing concern that it is,^^ he said to himself. ‘‘ That was 
never the voice of old Miss Faust — never. 

He turned the corner and walked on until he reached 
the house adjoining Miss Faust ^s. It was inclosed by a 
neglected fence, and the building inside was tall, narrow 
and very much dilapidated. A placard on the door an- 
nounced that it was To Eent.-’^ 

Hazard looked about him. No policeman was in sight. 
He put his hands on the paling and sprung lightly over 
into the yard. He went round to the side adjoining the 
domain of Miss Faust; here separating the two lots, he 
found the same iron-spiked brick wall and overtopping 
hedge that shut in the Eed House on the front and sides. 
Trees and thick shrubbery also filled the back yard, and 
only a portion of the rear walls and roof could be seen. 

But Hazard caught the gleam of light playing on the 
tops of some tall oleander shrubs growing near the wall. 
Evidently the light* came through an open window of the 
Eed House. 

If he could only see into that window! 


68 kildee; oe^ the sphinx of the bed house. 

From its secluded situation in the rear of the buildings 
and at the end furthest from the street, he imagined this 
must be a very private boudoir or bedroom. If there was 
any mysterious inmate of the Eed House who wished to be 
unseen and unsuspected, this would probably be her 
sanctuary. Here, believing herself safe, from observation, 
screened by trees, and with only a vacant house adjoining, 
she would feel safe to open her window for the sake of fresh 
air; perhaps to stand beforehand reveal herself to the gaze 
of one who might secure a post of observation. If he could 
only obtain such a post! Hazard looked about him. Close 
at hand was a tall magnolia- tree. He was active as a cata- 
mount, and, with an^ agile spring, he caught the lower 
bough and swung himself to a seat in the tree. Then he 
climbed higher — climbed until he reached a point on a level 
with the window whence the light proceeded. The blind 
was open, the curtain withdrawn. He could see a lighted 
and prettily furnished interior — pictures on the wall, and 
a handsome dressing-case and tall mirror, but no occupant 
— no living presence. Well, he would wait until he did see 
some one — wait an hour if necessary. His position in the 
tree was rather cramped, but that did not matter. He did 
not mind discomfort when he had an object in view. 
Otherwise, he was amusingly luxurious in his predilections 
for one of his Bohemian lot. 

Moments passed. His enthusiasm was beginning to die 
out, when again he heard a bird-like note — another strain 
from La Favorita — tender, sweet, sad. It was as brief 
and stopped as suddenly as before. While it still lingered 
in Hazard^s ears, a bat fluttered before his eyes, moment- 
arily obscuring the view. When he looked again, the space 
in front of the table with the canary ^s cage was occupied. 
A woman stood there — a woman dressed in black, as Miss 
Faust had been, but wholly unlike the old recluse in shape; 
neither bowed nor stoop-shouldered, but tall, slender, beau- 
tifully formed, with a graceful neck and finely poised head. 


kildee; ok^ the sphihx oe the red house. 69 

Her back was turned to Hazard, but he felt sure she must 
be young. The curves of the form, the carriage of the 
head, .all indicated youth. She had a light, black lace 
square thrown over her head, and Hazard could not see her 
hair, but he was certain he caught gleams of gold through 
the meshes. She put out her hand to the cage, and passed 
her fingers through the wires to caress the bird that had 
wakened and was fiuttering on its perch. She leaned over 
and sung a little, short, sweet trill — joyous this time — a 
merry good-night to her feathered friend. Hazard had 
taken out his opera-glass, and was intently examining the 
figure, the neck, the hand of this graceful shape. 

Why doesnT she turn round?^^ he said to himself in an 
excited whisper; but at that very instant his hopes were 
cruelly nipped. The heavy curtain' fell across the window, 
effectually shutting in the room and its occupant. Who 
had drawn the curtain? Hazard was almost ready to swear 
it was a man^s black-coated arm that he had seen, though 
he had the merest glimpse of it as the curtain dropped. 
He remained some time in his tree-perch, but, finding there 
was nothing to be gained, he came down, and made his way 
back to the street and to the front of the Eed House. He 
ascended the steps and rang the bell of the gate. A 
shuffling step was heard approaching. But the gate was 
not opened. The negro Cerberus put his mouth close to it 
and demanded in a low growl : 

Who is yer, and what 3^er want dis time er night?^^ 

I have a package for the young lady who lives here — 
Miss — ^plague upon it! I canH think of her name.'^^ 

No young lady live here. No lady ^tall live here but 
ole Miss Faust. ^ 

“ But there is a lady visiting here, younger than Miss 
Faust. 

No, dey ain^t, nuther. DonT yer contydic me again. 
No lady in dis house but Miss Faust. Now, you go ^long 
wid yerself an^ yer package. 


70 kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 

There was an honest ring in the old negroes voice; but 
Hazard was not convinced. He felt sure there was another 
^ and younger woman than Miss Faust in the house. • That 
shape, that voice, could not belong to the crooked old 
recluse. 

Miss Montcalm was waiting for him when he got back to 
Mrs. DuvaFs. As he led her to the carriage, he said: 

So Mr. Heathcliff did not come here after the 
opera. 

‘‘ The opera is not yet over, I suppose. 

It has been over for the last hour. Mr. Heathcliff 
went home with Miss Faust. He sent away the carriage 
and went in. He has been there ever since — listening to 
music, for one thing. A delicious, fresh voice; I heard it; 
yet you said that Miss Faust never has visitors. 

I said what was true. Mr. Heathcliff told me that no 
visitor but himself ever crossed her threshold. Doubtless 
you were mistaken. The voice was not fresh. 

Hazard did not reply. He was mentally calling himself 
a fool for having allowed jealousy to get the better of dis- 
cretion. It was just possible that in this Eed House mat- 
ter might exist a clew to the problem he had in hand, and 
now his unguarded speech to Honor might be the means of 
forestalling any further investigation. She would be sure 
to ask Heathcliff about that fresh young voice and he would 
be put upon his guard. On the other hand, it was all-im- 
portant, Hazard reasoned, that Honor should have her 
trust in her lover shaken. The engagement between them 
must come to an end; everything depended on this — every- 
thing for him; everything for the large party who were 
opposed to the late nominations. If the engagement was 
broken up, he might enter the lists for HonoFs favor with 
a chance of success, while the general would enter the 
political contest with almost a certainty of coming out 
ahead. And in the event of his election, he would be sure 
to reward himself (Hazard) with some position that would 


KILDEE; OR^ THE SPHINX OF THE RED HOUSE. 71 

prove a stepping-stone to his ambition. As his mind ran 
swiftly along this chain of thought, he determined to tell 
Miss Montcalm about the woman he had seen through the 
window, first asking her to be silent. A promise of 
silence from any other woman that I know wouldn^t be 
worth a sixpence,^ ^ he said to himself, but this girl was 
brought up by her father. She has a many’s notion of 
honor. If she makes a promise she will keep it.^^ 

After they had driven to her home, he detained her on 
the moonlit porch. 

I told you about the voice I heard singing in the Red 
House, he said, but that was not all. There is some- 
thing stranger still — strange in view of your assertion that 
the house has no white occupant but .the old maid recluse. 
I would like to tell you under your promise that you will 
never speak of it. 

I do not like to give such a promise, she said. I 
think you had better not tell me what you saw. 

But I very much wish to tell you, because you may 
help me by some suggestion. The matter is connected 
with my efforts to fulfill a mission intrusted to me by your 
father — a secret mission. 

Why not speak of it to him?^^ 

Because it is so vague — just a shadow — the kind of 
thing a woman^s quick instinct sometimes grasps when 
man^s reason is baffled. 

She said: I know of the mission my father intrusted to 
you. And then, after a pause, I promise not to speak 
to any one of what you may tell me.^^ 

It is this: There is a mystery about the Red House. 
You tell me and the old negro janitor tells me, there is no 
one there but Miss Faust, yet I heard that voice — the voice 
of a young woman, I will swear — and I saw the figure of a 
woman, well-shaped and graceful, standing in an upper 
room at the back of the house, the windows of which can 
not be seen from the street. 


72 kildee; ok, the sphihx of the ked house. 

How then did you manage to see the woman?^^ 

He laughed and told her. 

‘‘ A detective must not stickle at means to gain his end/^ 
he said. 

She listened, and was silent for a minute. Then she said 
coldly: 

You did not see the woman^s face, you had only a 
glimpse of her figure. You might easily have been mis- 
taken. You must have been mistaken. The person you 
saw must have been Miss Faust herself. 

Miss Faust! that misshapen old woman! You do not 
think me blind, do you? It is plain you will not heed any- 
thing that casts a doubt upon Heathclifi. Would Miss 
Faust be likely to call him in a note, ^ My best and 
dearest 

“ What do you mean?^^ 

Simply that I saw to-day — no matter how — a note to 
Heathclifi from a woman asking him to take her to the 
opera to-night, and calling him ‘ my best and dearest. 

This is absurd. Mr. Heathcliff took Miss Faust to the 
opera. 

Yes, the other woman — the writer of the note — was 
left at the Eed House. It was not considered safe for her 
to appear in public — thickly veiled though she would no 
doubt have been.-’^ 

Mr. Hall, I do not share your suspicions, and I must 
ask you not to trouble me with them any more; at least, so 
far as you connect them with Mr. Heathclifi . 

So Miss Montcalm^s love chooses to be blind and deaf. 
Your father has told me that you have promised to marry 
Heathclifi. You think him a perfect Bayard, incapable of 
dishonor; I trust, for your sake, he may prove so. Mean- 
time I have my doubts as to his infallibility, and I shall — 
watch him.^^ 

She looked at him with eyes full of scorn. 

Allow me to say good-night, she said with scarcely a 


KILDEE; OE^ the SPHI]SrX OF THE EED HOUSE. 73 

motion of her proud head, as she turned away. He stepped 
before her, bending his black-curled head low: 

‘^Forgive me. I was presumptuous,^^ he murmured, 
and stretched out his hand. He was handsome, gifted, 
daring, her father '’s favorite. She hesitated a little, and 
then extended her hand to meet his. He caught it to his 
lips and kissed it. 

You mtis^ forgive me, for I love you,^^ he cried pas- 
sionately, and rushed away. 


CHAPTEK XL 

Hazaed lost no time in inquiring after John Bowen, the 
man who had testified to seeing Mrs. Montcalm enter the 
premises of Heathcliff, the night of the murder. He was 
annoyed at finding that the carpenter no longer lived at 
Wallport. He had moved away six months before. Nor 
could the neighbors tell him where the man had removed to. 

Bowen was a mighty rovin^. fellow,^^ they said. On- 
sartain as a March day. He jes^ got onsatisfied in his 
mind, and picked up his traps and his wife and children, 
and off he put up the Brightby Eoad — said he^d keep 
a-goin^ till he found where he could better himself. 

Well, I don^t think he went fur,'’^ put in an old wom- 
an, who sat on the stoop of a squatty cottage with a pipe 
in her mouth, which she removed, and knocking the ashes 
from the bowl, put into her apron pocket. ‘^His money 
would n^t hold out. I seen Miss Bowen countin^ it the 
night afore they started. T Variant no big pile.-^^ 

There was to be a political meeting at Kock Spring, a 
town on the Brightby Eoad, not a great distance from 
Wallport. Norton, the Eepublican nominee, and some of 
his clan, would open the campaign by speeches. 

Came must go up to report the affair for ^ The Eat- 
tler,^ Dyke said. 


74 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

‘‘It is about time for Came to get on his periodical 
spree/^ commented young Hall. “You had better let me 
go, colonel; this is the opening of the battle, and ought to 
be reported in a way that will tell — for our side.-"^ 

“ Well, you^ll have to go, I suppose, though you are 
needed here, and we can hardly spare you. 

“ If luck favors me, 1^11 kill two birds with one shot — 
report the meeting and find Bo wen, thought Hazard. 

The meeting was held at Eock Spring, a county town 
that had recently doubled its population, owing to the dis- 
covery of mineral springs near its site. It had become a 
summer resort of considerable fame, and had now a num- 
ber of buildings in process of erection. 

“ I ought to find Bowen here,^'’ mused Hazard, as his 
train steamed into the town; “ there seems plenty doing 
in his line. 

It was nearly dusk, but before he went to bed. Hazard 
had made the discovery that the carpenter was indeed a 
citizen of Eock Spring, and was doing well. 

Soon after breakfast the next morning. Hall set out to 
look up his man. He found him in his work-shop putting 
the finishing touches to a neat paneled door. 

He was a lank, ungainly individual, with a thin, cleanly 
shaved visage, restless gray eyes and a half -quizzical, half- 
pathetic expression. From his looks and the tone of his 
evidence at the inquest. Hazard drew the inference that he 
was an oddity, and decided that he would not approach 
him in any capacity that would put him on his guard in 
answering questions. Possibly he had a superstitious dis- 
like to testifying under oath. Hazard introduced himself 
as a person wanting to have a house built, and desirous to 
find out the cost of materials and of building; also to be 
shown the model of a neat, cheap cottage. Bowen made 
the estimate as to cost in a few minutes, but lingered over 
the model. 

“ I am no professed designer,^^ he said; “ but I know a 


kildee; or^ the sphi:;^x of the red house. 75 

thing or two about a bouse, enough to see that the fellow, 
Hines, in Wallport, as calls himself an architectural artist, 
knows no more about building than a common Jackleg 
carpenter. See that hotlse he designed for old Judge Bond 
— all out of plumb. 

‘^l)id he design the house at the corner of Davis and 
Wade Streets? Ik’s vacant now, but I believe Captain 
Montcalm lived in it.'’^ 

‘‘ He? No, indeed. My uncle that^s dead, old Billy 
Bowen, put up that house. He could a-taught Hines his 
a-b-c in building. So the Montcalm house is vacant, you 
say. Well, no wonder. I^d be scared to live in it myself 
after that murder. They say the blood stains never have 
come up; no, and they won^’t till the murderer is foundr 
and punished. 

The murderer was his own wife, I believe. 

They say so, but it^s hard to think it. She was such a 
sweet one to look at. 

But if she was innocent, why did she run away? Why 
didn^t she come forward and explain? She left the house 
secretly that night — so I read in the papers; I was not in 
this part of the country — and was never seen afterward.'’^ 

Yes, she was seen afterward. A certain man saw her 
that same night — all muffled and disguised-like — going into 
Heathcliff’s house — him thaks Mayor of Wallport now.^^ 

Is it possible? Yes, I remember reading a statement 
to that effect among the inquest evidence, but it was set 
aside — proved a mistake, I think. 

The carpenter turned one eye up knowingly at his inter- 
locutor and seemed about to speak, but thought better of 
it, and went on silently with his work. As though by acci- 
dent Hazard let drop from his pocket a flask filled with 
whisky. He caught it dexterously and offered Mr. Bowen 
a drink. The carpenter took a generous draught, and un- 
der the influence of the whisky and of Hazard^’s magnetic 
geniality, he relaxed from his cautious attitude and waxed 


76 kildee; or^ the sphinx op the red house. 

confidential. He resumed his talk about the Montcalm 
murder and avowed that he was the man who had seen 
Mrs. Montcalm enter the house of the mayor; that there 
was no mistake about it; he had bamboozled his questioners 
at the inquest on purpose. It^s not John Bowen who^s 
a-goin^ to swear a man^s neck into a noose/^ he said, let 
alone a woman ^s. l\e had enough bad luck in my life 
without puttin^ myself in the shadow of the gallows in that 
style. I got into the evidence scrape unbeknownst. You 
see there had been a poor man^s frolic up at our house a 
day or so before, and old Miss Simpson — a long-tongued 
gossip she is, too — was there a-nursin^ wife and the new 
baby. She heard me tell about seein'’ Laura, and she up 
and tells it when there came the hue and cry about the 
killin^ and about Montcalm^s wife bein^ the murderer. I 
was summoned to give evidence when the inquest sot on 
the body, but not much did they make outer John Bowen. 
I jis talked careless and wild-like, ^lowed it might a been 
the housekeeper, as if old Miss Brumby could carry herself 
like that queen of womankind — Laura Montcalm, let alone 
look like her in face. The housekeeper said it were half 
past ten o’clock when she got back. I wasnT sure of the 
exact time I had seen my woman, so I told ^em it might a 
been ten or half past, or might a been nine. They sniffed 
at suoh shifty evidence and told me I might sit down. But 
I knew who did know the time to a second, and that was 
my wife. Let hei alone for keepin^ my time after dark as 
close as a factory overseer. She says it was jest twenty 
minutes to ten when I got home; and as it took me about 
ten minutes to walk there from Heathcliff^s, it were about 
half past nine when I saw Laura — jest an hour before the 
time the housekeeper come home.^^ 

Then you will swear it was Mrs. Montcalm you saw?^^ 

The man looked up suspiciously. 

‘‘ Who said anything about swearin^?^^ he growled. 

Hazard hastened to retrieve his blunder. 


kildee; ok^ the sphihx of the red house. 77 

Pardon me; the word slipped out without my knowing 
it. I meant to say that you were pretty sure then, it was 
Mrs. Montcalm you saw?^^ 

Pretty sure! I^m as certain of it as that IVe got this 
rule in my hand. I knew her well — that is, I knew the 
way she looked and walked. I had been hired on her place 
to make some summer-houses and fancy pigeon-cotes, and 
she come right often to look at the work. A pretty wom- 
an like that is bound to catch a man^s eye and stay in his 
mind. I thought I knew her walk that night, before I 
came up with her. I was about to pass her when she 
stopped at Heathcliif^s gate. Her veil blew to one side 
and I got a look at her face — ^jest one glimpse, but I saw 
her as plain as I see you. I thought her visit to Heath- 
cliff^s was curious, and I stopped and watched her. She 
didn^t go up the front steps and ring the door-bell; she 
went round the side of the house, out of sight of where I 
stood, but I knowed Heathcliff^s study-room was on that 
side, and the windows was low and opened on a little porch 
with a sight of vines hanging about it. Presently, I heard 
three soft taps upon window-glass, as if it was a signal. I 
never told that at the inquest; and iPs jest between us 
now,'’^ said Mr. Bowen, taking another pull at the llask. 

And now for business,^^ he continued. You like that 
plan of a cottage, you say. Well, in five minutes 1^1 tell 
you how many feet of lumber itfil take to build such a 
house. Good-morning. What can I do for you?^^ to a 
fair, pleasant-looking young man who had entered the 
shop. 

Those frames for scenery that were ordered, are they 
ready 

Oh, you are one of them show folks that wanted fixings 
for the hall. Yes, they Te 'ready. 

All right — ITl call a dray and send them over to the 
theater — hall, I mean. What do I owe you? Ifil settle 
now. And see here; canH you take tickets to the perform- 


78 kildee; or^ the sphihx oe the red house. 

ance this evening as part pay for the job? We^ll hardly 
make expenses in your town.^^ 

‘^Tickets? I don^t think I care about ^em. I never 
like to take my pay out in chips and whetstones. What 
sort of a show have you got? Anythin^ lively — tumbling 
sword-swallowin^^ clog-dancin% or the like?^^ 

Tumbling and sword-swallowing! Man alive! Ours 
is a high-toned show. We play Shakespeare and British 
comedy. See this play-bill. ^ Grand Family Combination 
— M. Oucciole and his accomplished wife, Mme. Marianne 
Ducciole, his charming daughter, the celebrated emotional 
actress. Mile. Carlotta Ducciole — the young Messeurs his 
sons — Auguste and Prangois — whose fine appearance and 
rare talents make them stars of the stage. Also the 
charming souhrette and unrivaled danseuse. Mile. Celeste 
Vivien. In the orchestra the company have secured, at 
great expense, two fine artists. Signor Petruchio — the 
musical phenomenon, a more wonderful automaton player 
than Blind Tom, and Herr Maximilian Eubenstein, the 
matchless violoncellist,^ meaning yours truly, said the 
blonde young man, bowing to the carpenter, and touching 
his chest with his forefinger. ‘^The performance this 
evening will consist of five of the most stirring scenes in 
^ Macbeth,'’ Shakespeare ^s masterpiece, you know — and a 
delightful fantastic drama, full of song and dance, called 
" The Knight^s Temptation,^ with the beautiful Celeste in 
the leading character. The orchestra will give the over- 
ture of — 

Hold on, young man. You addle my brains. ITl see 
my wife about them tickets. It^s likely she^ll want to go 
and take her mam and all the young ones. You neediiT 
settle now; 1^11 see you again. 

Thanks; you had better take a couple of tickets now, 
though. 

^‘111 take a couple, Max,^^ called out Hazard from his 
perch on the work-bench. He sat there whittling a stick 


KIL'DEE; oe, the sphinx of the eed house. 79 

and observing, unnoticed by him^ the new-comer from un- 
der his slouched hat. 

Hazard Halh by all the gods of Olympus/^ cried the 
other, rushing up and embracing the young journalist with 
fervor. Old chum and room-mate, what are you doing 
here?^^ 

I am a political envoy, may it please you. And you. 
Max, what in the mischief does this mean? I left you an 
ambitious painter covering a ponderous canvas with a bat- 
tle scene you were sure would make your fame, and I find 
you with the brush exchanged for the buskin — following' 
the fortunes of strolling play people. How comes it?^^ 

Ambitious dreams don^t furnish bread and butter. I 
had to live while I waited for fame, and starving is a lone- 
some sort of business. So when Mr. Duck made up his 
troupe and offered — 

Ah, my prophetic heart!^’ interrupted Hazard. It 
struck me when you were expounding the play-bill that 
Monsieur Ducciole was no other than our old acquaintance, 
Jere Duck, of the St. Louis tenement house — I beg his 
pardon — Professor Duyck; Professor of Shakespeare and 
the Divine Histrionic Art — as his cards read — who taught 
me how to rant as Hamlet in the days when I fancied my- 
self the coming stage luminary. So Monsieur Ducciole is 
no other than our big-hearted, cranky professor ?^^ 

‘‘ ' The same, the same, 

Letters four do form his name. ” 

And Madame Marianne Ducciole is good Mother Duck 
— Polly Ann the professor called her — and Mademoiselle 
Carlotta is Miss Charlotte — dear little Lottie — my first 
fiirtee; and Gus and Prank — those' awful hobbledehoys — 
ure Messeurs Auguste and Fran9ois, and the musical artist, 
Herr Maximilian Eubenstein, secured at such great ex- 
pense, is my jolly chum — Max. But the aliens of the 
company — Signor Petruchio, the musical phenomenon, and 
the entrancing Mademoiselle Celeste Vivien — who are they 


80 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

Signor Petruchio is indescribable; you must see him; 
but Mademoiselle Celeste — can't you guess. Hazard? 
Don't you remember Kildee — my child." 

Kildee, Kildee? What, not that little estray the 
Ducks adopted? that big-eyed elf they picked up some- 
w*here in the street, I believe. Stay, what am I thinking 
of? It was you who found the waif. Max — somewhere, be- 
fore I knew you— and played the paternal to her until the 
Ducks took her under their wing." 

I found her in a garret room of that same moldy old 
tenement house some years before I had the honor of your 
acquaintance. She had been tied to a bed-leg by her 
scamp of a mother and left to starve. She was half 
famished, but too frightened to cry out, and she clung to 
me like a scared kitten, when T took her on my shoulder. 
She was seven years old, but no bigger than a child of 
four. I was a lubberly boy of seventeen working in a drug 
store and dabbling at pictures every spare moment. How 
to keep her was a puzzle, but I left off meat and beer, and 
managed to find such a bird as she in bread and milk and 
shoes. Some good women helped me about her frocks. 
For two years I was her only parent, then the Ducks kind- 
ly took charge of her for me. Papa and Mamma Duck 
have been as good as could be to the waif, but Lottie — 
bless her! has been a little mother to the child." 

Lottie was always a trump. I'll never forget how she 
played the stern nurse and made me swallow the doctor's 
prescriptions when I had that hard fever in the old, rat- 
haunted tenement house. I remember, too, how soft little 
Kildee's hand was upon my head. How came you to call 
her Kildee, Max? ’ Was it her true name?" 

No; she was called Jasmina, she told us. It was toa 
much name for such a mite, so we called her Kildee. " 

‘‘ It suits her, or it suited her then. What does she look 
like now? She was an eerie sprite then — all eyes and 
hair. " 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 81 

She is still small, but rounded and well-shaped.^^ 
‘^Pretty.^^^ 

Pretty's not the word," said Max, glowing. She is 
the loveliest thing in the world." 

Ah, ha! I see how the land lies. I perceive why Max 
Eubin, artist, has laid his dreams of artistic success on the 
shelf, and turned scene-painter and musician in Monsieur 
Ducciole's troupe. Are you engaged to your protegee, my 
noble Herr?" 

Nonsense!" Max colored to the roots of his fair hair. 
Kildee is still a child. She likes me, as she does Lottie 
and Lottie's brothers. " 

And you — ?" 

Why, I always called her my child. " 

Yes, I remember your paternal airs — how careful you 
were that she should have thick soles, and how you tried to 
scold her for burning holes in her apron. And I mind me 
of a certain tableau, my gentle Herr. A blonde youth, 
with a curly haired sprite on his knee, feeding her with 
cherries, their stems held between his teeth, whence she 
cropped the fruit with her pretty lips, a sly way to get un- 
limited kisses. Does she kiss you as freely now. Max?" 

No," said the other, shortly, flushing, and looking an- 
noyed. She is not a child any more " — forgetting his 
previous assertion. But come along to the hotel. You 
are surely going to see your old friends?" 

I surely am, but not just now. I have to attend a 
politicaPmeeting, and report the speeches for our journal. 
I am a shining newspaper light now in the city of Wallport. 
Plenty of work, precious little fun, and less money. Give 
my love to Lottie, and a kiss to Kildee, and tell them — " 
‘^See here. Hazard," Max interrupted, ‘^you mustn't 
tease Kildee in that reckless way when you meet her. She 
is fearless and frank-hearted as when you knew her, a child; 
but she has a sweet dignity with it. She was brought up 
by Bohemians, it's true, bufc Mrs. Duck is as honest a 


82 kildee; oe, the sphihx of the eed house. 

woman as breathes, and Lottie is a good girl, for all her 
free ways.^^ 

I know it, mon earner ade. Trust me, ITl say nothing 
to ruffle the plumage of a fowl or a bird of your flock,^^ 
Hazard said, caressing Max^s broad shoulder. 

Then he went to the part of the shop where Bowen was 
at work, and had a few words more with the carpenter, 
while Max took his leave. 


CHAPTEE XII. 

But Hazard was so occupied with the political meeting 
that he failed to remember the promised visit to his old ac- 
quaintances until rather late in the afternoon, when he met 
Max in the street, as he was on his way to the telegraph 
office. 

‘^1^11 come in half an hour, he said to him, and he 
bought a bouquet from a fruit and flower stand close by 
and sent it by Max to Lottie. That Prima^s little 
heart had been in a flutter ever since she knew she was like- 
ly to see again the dark eyes wliich had looked into hers too 
often for her peace in the days when they both lived in the 
cheap tenement house in St. Louis, and when the young 
reporter — trying his restless energies in various flights — had 
taken lessons in stage lore from her papa, the then retired 
actor, whose card in the newspaper read: ‘^^Prof. Duyck, 
instructor in Shakespeare and Histrionic Art.-^^ The pro- 
fessor thought it only a professional license to introduce the 
Y into his name in such connection. Besides, it might 
ward ofl the malicious suggestion of quack, which had 
often wounded his spirit, the suggestiveness of name being 
further accentuated by his appearance — his short, plump 
body and duck-legs. 

Lottie, in her new blue dress, with her hair arranged as 
Hazard used to like it, had flitted nervously all day about 


kildee; ok^ the sphinx of the bed house. 83 

the three rooms occupied by the company at the Eock 
Spring Hotel. She caught up her guitar^ threw its blue 
ribbon over her white neck and sung to it a snatch of the 
song that had been his favorite — the last she had sung foi: 
him on the evening he left her to seek his fortune, first in 
New Orleans, afterward in Wallport. Ah, that last even- 
ing! Lottie ^s heart swelled under her blue bodice, as she 
recalled the tender nothings ha had murmured as they sat, 
touching each other, on the balcony. The surroundings 
were anything but romantic, yet trtosfigured by Lottie^s 
sentimental fancy, they seemed so. There was a moon — 
never mind that it shone on brick walls and dingy roofs 
instead of groves and honeysuckle bowers. A cat squalled 
on an adjacent shed and the professor snored as he lay on 
the lounge in the inner room, but the sounds had a night- 
ingale melody to Lottie, so full of romance was her foolish 
little heart. She recalled it all as she sat with the guitar 
ribbon round her neck, looking, at herself in the dressing- 
case mirror to see if the three years that had passed since 
then had traced any lines on her peach-bloom skin. Kil- 
dee, sitting on a low chair and' rocking softly as she sewed, 
looked at her and wondered what she was thinking of. But 
Kildee was practical. 

Bring me your kid slippers, dear, and let me whiten 
them up a bit,^^ she said presently. I have finished sew- 
ing this gilt braid on Frank^s jacket. Naughty boy, to be 
always ripping it off. 

“ Gus did it with his clumsy sword-thrusts in that fenc- 
ing scene,^^ complained the boy, who was lolling on a 
lounge near by, yawning over his part for the evening. 

Gus will punch my eyes out some day, and then father 
will be satisfied he can never play at swords.'’^ 

Mother Duck — beg pardon, Madame Ducciole — with her 
ample proportions buried in an arm-chair, fanned her 
plump, heated cHeeks and read a novel. Presently she 
looked up: 


84 kildee; the sphin^x oe the red house. 

‘‘ Dear, dear, I forgot that awful grease spot on my pur- 
ple silk where I dropped the sausage when professor told 
me it was my time to go on the stage. Professor is so im- 
petuous. He rushed behind the scenes and grabbed my 
arm just as I had the sausage between my teeth. I really 
wish he wasn^t so nervous, but he says it^s the way with 
genius; and now I shall have to wear it, grease and all, in 
that banquet scene to-night. 

“ I took the grease out with a hot iron last night. Aunt 
Polly, said Kildee, without looking up from the soiled 
slipper she was renovating by rubbing it with an enamel 
card. 

Thanks, child; but, Kildee, you forget again. You 
called me Aunt Polly. Professor doesnT like it. Eemem- 
ber to say Aunt Marianne. ^ ^ 

‘‘1^11 try,^^ said the girl, smiling; but Polly suits you 
best, auntie. It^s sweet and jolly and motherly — like 
■ you.” 

^‘Kildee, I wish youM see if I know my lines, said 
Prank, rising from the lounge and lazily approaching, book 
in hand. 

Kildee, honey, said the professor, coming in from the 
next room with his wig awry, it^s six oYlock — soon time 
for me to be at the hall again; and Pve got a splitting 
headache, what with woriying over fixing that stage and 
listening to the hammering and trpng to drill those stupid 
supes. I do wish, child, yoiPd make me a decent cup of 
ten.. The slops they have here make me sick. 

Polly, put the kettle on, and let’s have tea,” 

sung Prank, pulling one of Kildee^s curls. 

She got up and put the renovated slippers into a big 
basket containing costumes, etc., that was presently to be 
carried down to the scene of the performance. Then she 
opened a tall, narrow box — originally Mother Duck^s bon- 
net-box — and took out of it a small oil-stove, a package of 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 85 

good tea and a little metal pot. Frank lighted the stove 
lamp, and in a little while the pot was in place over the 
fire. While waiting for it to boil, Kildee took Frank into 
a corner and heard him recite his lines, prompting and sug- 
gesting in a low tone, so as not to attract the professor^ s 
attention. Frank declared it put him out of sorts to 
have his father correct him in his loud, pompous fashion. 

You are a good girl, and I love you better than Lot- 
tie, said the tall, handsome young fellow, giving her his 
favorite caress — a pull at one of the short, nut-brown curls 
on her neck. Max saw it as he opened the door, and winced 
a little; then abused himself mentally, as he had done every 
day since he made the discovery that jealousy was beginning 
to be mixed with what he still told himself was the half- 
brotherly, half -paternal love he felt for Kildee. 

Max had a great bouquet of roses and carnations in one 
hand ; the other hand he held behind him. Lottie flew to 
him and caught the flowers. 

For me! Say they are for me!^^ she cried. 

They are. Hall sent them. He will be here, he says, 
in half an hour. He has been very busy all day, but his 
heart has been with you, so he desired me to say; I am 
not prepared to guarantee the assertion. ^ ^ 

Lottie buried her face in the bouquet, to hide the blush 
that made her cheeks as pink as the roses. 

You must keep them fresh; theyTl be lovely for you 
to wear to-night,^^ said Kildee, coming forward. 

You shall have part of them,^^ Lottie declared. 

Kildee shook her head. 

I wonT consent to rob you of a single rose,^^ she said. 

Max still held one hand behind him. 

Come here, little one,^^ he said to Kildee. Did you 
think you were forgotten?^ ^ 

He drew his hand from behind him, bringing into view 
a bouquet, smaller than Lottie^s, but composed of exquisite 
flowers — white and delicately tinted and fragrant. 


86 kildee; ok^ the sphii^x oe the eed house. 

Yoiirs/^ he said^ and gave it to her. She caught it in 
both hands and held it up. She whirled around in delight. 

‘‘ Hazard is generous with his gifts/^ Lottie said^ a faint 
shadow stealing over her face. 

Hazard indeed! Do you imagine he sent it? Hazard 
has forgotten my existence. He never did fancy me — 
muchly — used to tease me hatefully, I remember, and 
cropped my kitten^ s ears once. No, my flowers came from 
somebody else — somebody who never forgets me,^^ she said, 
raising her brown eyes to Max and laying her head against 
his shoulder in the frankly affectionate way he had liked so 
well awhile ago, but of late, somehow, did not find so satis- 
fying. Awhile ago, too, he would have stooped and kissed 
her with a frankness equal to her own. He did not kiss 
her now. He touched her curly head with his plump, 
white hand; he stroked it gently, and if she had been ob- 
servant she would have felt the tremor in his Angers. None 
of them noticed it; none of them paid any attention to 
him. It seemed a matter of course to pet Kildee, as it was 
to take advantage of her nimble Angers and deft, quick 
movements, her readiness to help and her womanly wise 
devices. 

The professor broke up the talleau. He had gone into 
the other room while waiting for his tea; he came out this 
time, looking more worried than before. 

Everything goes wrong,^^ he said. St. Peter is in 
the sulks and wonT touch his violin. HeTl not play a note 
to-night. He is sitting with his head between his hands, 
and wonT even look up. 

Kildee can bring him around. She always can,^^ said 
Mrs. Duck, soothingly. Go to him, Kildee.'’^ 

Kildee had already gone. 

Gus, who came from the room presently, reported that 
Kildee had coaxed St. Peter round so far as to make him 
sit up and look at her. 

In a little while she came in, leading by the hand a re- 


kildee; oe, the sphinx of the red house. 87 

markable-looking being — a man well-proportioned, but 
gaunt and thin, with a long, pallid face and long, snow- 
white hair and beard, contrasting strangely with his young- 
looking features. These indicated a man scarcely thirty, 
while the expression that pervaded them was almost child- 
like. They indicated also refinement. His head was well 
shaped — the forehead broad and full. This made it most 
strange to see the blank vacancy of the eyes. They had a 
bewildered, wistful look, as of a lost child, and there was a 
child-like pathos in the droop of the mouth. 

I have brought him in here because this room is 
brighter and prettier, and he has the dumps worse than 
nsuai, poor dear, said Kildee. think his head hurts 

him. Auntie, let him have the arm-chair, please. I know 
what^ll brighten him — egg-nog; ITl make him some.-^^ 

Where will you get the eggs, Kildee?^ ^ 

You never mind, Mr. Frank, ITl not trouble you. I 
go provided for St. Peter. 

She deposited her charge in the easy-chair, and then 
drew* out the ex-bonnet box and brought out of its depths 
a couple of eggs that had been packed in cotton in a lit- 
tle box to themselves. 

Why the mischief were not those eggs demolished by 
the baggage-smasher? asked Frank wonderingly. 

Because they are guinea eggs, stupid — nearly as hard- 
shelled as your cranium; shall I try conclusions?^^ and she 
made a feint of breaking one upon his head. 

She set him to stirring the yelks for St. Peter^s beverage, 
while she beat the whites, standing before St. Peter, and 
talking to him cheeringly. The regular sound and motion 
of the egg-beating aroused the daft creature^s sense of 
rhythmic harmony — the strongest instinct of his nature. 
He moved his head in time to it; he looked about him wist- 
fully, then at Kildee. 

He wants his fiddle; go and bring it to him,^^ Kildee 
said to Frank. 


88 kildee; or, the SPHIIS'X oe the ked house. 

When the instrument was put into his hands^ he made a 
few languid passes of the bow across the strings. Kildee 
touched his hand: 

See here, St. Peter/ ^ she said; I am waiting for you 
to play that I may dance. And I^ll keep time; see?^^ 

She began to move her pretty feet dance-fashion, while 
she continued the egg-beating. He nodded and began to 
play at once, smiling at her as she danced and beat her 
eggs at the same time. Her pretty gray gown came just 
to the tops of her tiny boots, and the play of her feet and 
the ease and grace of her motions were a joy to see. It 
had been a delight, the professor said, to teach Kildee to 
dance. She took to it by instinct. He had an exalted 
estimate of his own family^s proficiency in this accomplish- 
ment, and he meant it as high praise of Kildee when he 
told his friends — She dances, sir, like a born Duck — 
meaning one of his own flock. 

The egg-nog was made and Kildee gently took away the 
Saint ^s violin and gave him a goblet of the frothing nectar 
instead. He tasted it and testified his approval by smiling 
in his dazed, wistful way into her face. 

Ah, he^s all right, pronounced the professor, who had 
had his tea with a dash of rum in it, and was again in 
spirits, ready to greet Hazard, who now entered on the 
scene, with effervescent rhetoric. Mrs. Duck^s welcome 
was hearty; she had warmly liked the handsome boy and 
had cherished hopes of adding him to the family. 

Lottie^ s piquant face was beaming with delight and 
blushes as she held out her hand . 

You know all of us,^^ she said, looking around at the 
group. Gus and Prank have grown out of the pea-green 
stage since you saw them. Gus is our villain, which ac- 
counts for the scowl he has developed; Frank is our lover. 
We are quite proud of his mustache; it is the ‘ early 
variety as we say of potatoes. Mamma here has grown 
younger, and Kildee taller and plumper, and—*'’ 


kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 89 

And Lottie lovelier/^ whispered Hazard. 

For shame! You have not outgrown your propensity 
to flatter/^ laughed the sparkling little actress. 

But here is some one I do not know/^ said Hazard, 
looking with curiosity at the strange figure seated in the 
arm-chair, sipping egg-nog. The blank face, the bewil- 
dered, questful eyes, the odd, child-like dignity, the white 
hair and the smooth skin. The figure struck him as pict- 
uresque and quaint in the highest degree. 

Oh, this is Signor Petruchio — our musical phenomenon 
— otherwise St. Peter. 

^^St. Peter? 

You see the Ducciole Family Company carry ’their 
Saint along with them. The fun-making St. Louis gamins 
gave the poor dear that name because of his white beard 
and queer face, I suppose. He is inspired as to music, like 
Blind Tom — and a stark idiot in everything else. 

Oh, Lottie, he is listening to you!^^ cried Kildee, re- 
proachfully. Eemember he can hear though he doesn^t 
talk except in disjointed words. He is not an idiot. His 
soul has just gone out from him into his violin. His violin 
talks for him, pleads and laughs and moans for him — oh, 
so well.^^ 

Hazard turned and looked at the girl more attentively. 
Some ring in her voice was strangely familiar to him. And 
who was it she resembled? Why could he not think? The 
little high-bred way she carried her head, the dignity that 
was blended with her child -like grace, the winning beauty 
of her smile— the very droop of her eyelids reminded him 
of some one he had lately seen. He knitted his brow in 
perplexed thought, but Lottie was claiming his attention. 

It is the strangest thing in the world, she was saying. 

He understands nothing but music. Music must have 
been an instinct with him, and when he lost his reason 
(through illness or accident I think, for that head shows he 
was never born an idiot) why the instinct stayed behind. 


90 kildee; or, the sphihx oe the red house. 

Instincts do stay, you know, when reason goes. He plays 
divinely — difficult compositions too. He had learned them 
by note, before his misfortune, or else he had caught them 
by ear, as Blind Tom does.'^^ 

Some day he may recover his reason — sudden ly,^^ Haz- 
ard said, looking hard at the singular being, who, strange 
to note, raised his head at the same time and looked into 
Hazard^s face with the wistful intent expression one sees in 
the eyes of dogs. 

When and where did you find him, Lottie? 

He is Kildee^s discovery. She was walking on a back 
street in St. Louis one afternoon when she saw a group of 
gamins tormenting a white-haired man. They had taken 
away his hat and fiddle and were trying to get at his squir- 
rel. They had seen the little animal run into his shirt 
bosom for refuge. He was frantically gesticulating, ap- 
pealing, threatening in a broken jabber, which only excited 
the little imps^ derision and made them worse. Kildee 
looked around for a policemen, but, as usual with that 
fraternity when they are wanted — there was none to be 
seen. She knew it would be useless to remonstrate with 
the boys. They would only jeer at her; so what does our 
Kildee do, but begin to sing and dance — and she dances 
like an angel, as you ought to remember. The gamins 
left off tormenting the man, and when she stopped they 
begged for another dance. Kot unless you restore my 
uncle his hat and his fiddle,^ said our girl. ‘ Then he can 
play for. me, and I will dance properly.-’ 

The hat and fiddle were at once restored and Kildee 
kept her promise. She began to dance, and the queer 
being began to play and played deliciously. She rounded 
Vi^ \iQY pas final a farewell courtesy and was r unning 
off, when the odd genius caught her skirt. She turned and 
held out her hand and he kissed it devoutly. From that 
time he took on allegiance to her. He followed her home; 
he would not leave her. Fortunately we found we could 


KILDEE; OR;, THE SPHIKX OF THE RED HOUSE. 91 

put him to use. We were troubled about music. He 
could play with so much soul and science in one that he 
always delights an audience. Nobody claimed him. He 
was daft, but harmless, so we took him traveling with us. 
He passes as a distinguished foreign artist musicale, who 
couldn^t or wouldn^’t deign to speak English, and folks 
actually take on about his dignity, and call his idiocy — the 
eccentricities of genius. In Mexico he lost his squirrel; 
somebody mashed it to death accidentally, and St. Peter 
had a fearful fight with the poor man. A lady who took a 
fancy to Kildee, gave her a marmoset for the Saint. You 
know what a marmoset is? a queer little miniature monkey. 
Well, the creature loves St. Peter as the squirrel did, and 
he carries it in his bosom. It is there now asleep. 

Supper was brought in at this moment. The company 
eat in their room, not caring to make themselves common 
and to sate the curiosity the public might have as to the 
looks of the troupe — the ladies particularly. They supped 
early, too — before the regular tea-rime, that they might go 
to the theater. Hazard had a cup of tea poured out for him 
by Lottie’s little hands. He would go with them to the 
theater, he said, and would see a part of the performance 
— the scenes from Shakespeare — but at half past nine he 
must say good-bye, as his train left at a quarter to ten. 

That is such a pity,” the professor said. You will 
not see Kildee in the ‘ Knight’s Temptation.’ Kildee ’s 
songs and dances always bring down the house.” 

“And you should see her play the great lady,” said 
Mamma Duck. “ It is amusing to see the dignified graces 
the little witch can put on. She seems to the manner born. ” 
Hazard thought it more than likely there was blue blood 
in the girl’s veins, on one side at least, of her parentage. 
He wished he had asked Max something about her mother. 
AVas she dead? Had they e^er heard of her since she left 
the tenement house so abruptly nine years before? 

Max had busied himself sending off the needed para- 


92 kildee; or, the sphinx oe the red house. 

phernalia to the hall, and had drunk his tea at a gulp. 
His usually joyous face was clouded. While they waited 
for the carriage, he took Lottie aside. 

Lottie, he said, I wish from my soul it was possi- 
ble to get along without the ^ Knight^s Temptation ^ this 
evening, or anything Kildee has to appear in. ^ 

W^hy, in wonder^’s name?^'' asked Lottie. 

Because, you will call it imagination and me a fool, 
but I believe I saw Kildee ^s mother this afternoon on the 
piazza of the other hotel. She was dressed very differently 
— neat and plain — and she looked a good deal older than 
when we knew her, and they called her a different name, 
but I do believe that it was no other than Mrs. Gonzalis. 
And just think, if she should see Kildee to-night, see how 
lovely and bright she is, she would be sure to claim her. 

‘^Oh! Max, that has always been your bugbear — that 
somebody would claim Kildee. Don^t cross bridges before 
you get to them. You have imagined before that you saw 
Mrs. Gonzalis. Let^s hope that it was not she, or that she 
will not recognize us. I donT think she would know Kil- 
dee. And it is not likely she would want the girl. Why, 
if she was alive, has she never claimed her child before? 
Even if it is she, and she does lay claim to Kildee, she will 
have to establish that claim, and we can show that she de- 
serted the child, and has made no sign all these years, and 
that she was an improper character. You remember how 
showily she dressed, and how she went out nights?^^ 

She had some business, she said; she was an agent for 
something. We couldnT prove her to be an unfit person. 
She might explain the desertion; she might work on Kil- 
dee^s feelings and her sense of duty.^^ 

“ Hush with your mights and perhapses. ‘ Cast that 
shadow from thy brow,^ sung Lottie, tapping him witfi 
her fan. You broad-shouldered, brave fellow, you. 
You are a coward where Kildee is concerned. There^s 
the carriage. Come on.^^ 


kildee; ok^ the sphikx of the eed house. 93 


CHAPTEE XIIL 

Doh^t tell me I am not the ideal Lady Macbeth/^ 
Lottie said, coming out from the little improvised dressing- 
room into the space before the dropped curtain and sweep- 
ing a stage courtesy before Hazard. She was in all the 
stateliness of trailing purple velvet (cotton-back) and a 
tiara of (Irish) diamonds. 

I have been trying to drill my face into a granddame 
expression; have I succeeded? Do I impress you as the 
Lady of Macbeth Castle, coming forth to congratulate her 
lord on his accession of honors? 

She looked a deaP more like a charming countess of the 
Louis XIV. period. Hazard thought, but he answered: 

^SSo strongly do you impress me as the stately lady in 
question, that I must imagine myself Macbeth, and say 
with him, 

' My dearest love, Malcolm comes here to-day.’ * 

He bowed his lips to Lottie^s hand with his finest grace. 

Well done,^^ cried Papa Duck, coming out of the other 
dressing-box as Macbeth in plumes and a generaPs some- 
what faded uniform. I taught you that bow, you scamp. 
You ought to be with us now instead of following the dry 
business of scribbling. YouVe got genius — histrionic 
genius, sir. Lottie, you remember what a Hamlet he 
made? His face was a whole funeral procession of melan- 
choly!^^ 

‘^I remember his Eomeo,^^ Lottie answered, stifling a 
sigh. He had played it to her Juliet once at an amateur 
performance, and it was an ever-fresh memory with her. 

WeVe got a noble house — IVe just had a peep at it 
through a slit in the curtain,'''' exclaimed Frank. But I 


94 KILDEE; OR, THE SPHIHX OF THE RED HOUSE. 

shall stall at those two long speeches of mine unless Kildee 
prompts. I can always understand when she prompts. 

My dear Hall/^ said the professor, you had better go 
to the front and get a seat while you can. The seats are 
fast being taken. We shall have a fine house. There goes 
the music; St. Peter starts off vigorously. 

I must say good-bye, as I shall have to leave here at 
ten. I hope to see you at Wallport soon,^^ Hazard said, 
extending his hand to the professor, who shook it heartily, 
saying: 

Our craft is too little for such big waters; however, we 
may come early in' the fall.^^ 

I shall certainly look for you, ^ ^ Hazard said, holding 
Lottie ^s fingers in a lingering clasp. 

Max was on the other side of the curtain in his musician^s 
seat just below the stage; and St. Peter was beside him. 
The audience forgot to be impatient for the curtain to rise, 
in wondering at Signor Petruchio^s music, and his strange 
appearance — his pallid face, his long white hair and beard, 
his big, pale, solemn eyes staring blankly forward as his 
bow moved over the strings with that wonderfully light, firm, 
keen touch which drew forth the inmost secrets of melody. 
Max was accompanying him on the violoncello. The fine 
house did not seem to have put him in spirits as it had 
the professor. He looked pale and anxious. He nodded 
to Hazard with a faint smile, and that astute youth saw 
that something was wrong. 

He is jealous because Kildee is to play with that hand- 
some Frank,^^ thought Hazard; or he is doubtful about 
her getting through all right. She looked such a mere 
child, dancing before that inspired idiot as she beat his 
eggs, that I canT fancy her in the role of a court lady.^^ 
But Hazard^s conjecture only grazed the mark. Max^s 
anxiety did refer to Kildee, but not in these ways. He 
had anxiously scanned the faces of all who entered the hall. 
He began to breathe freer as he saw nearly all the seats 


kildee; ok, the sphihx of the red house. 95 

appropriated; and he gave St. Peter the signal to begin by 
playing a few notes of the ‘^Souvenirs de Bellini.'''' He 
played on quite cheerfully, till suddenly he started and 
made a false note. While he had been attending to his 
instrument two vacant seats which had caught his eye 
previously had been occupied; the one by a handsome man, 
with full blonde beard, the other by the dark woman 
whom he had seen on the piazza of the hotel, and had be- 
lieved to be Kildee^ s mother. 

Max felt the blood forsake his face as she fixed her large 
black eyes upon him. Did she recognize him? Was it in- 
deed she? She was changed, thin, hollow-eyed, but pict- 
uresque still. She no longer wore her hair in masses of 
jetty braids; -it was put back with a plainness to correspond 
with her dress — of black silk with little trimming. But 
the shapely head, the finely turned neck were things that 
artist Max remembered. Then, who could forget her eyes! 
They had a wildness in them now, however, which had not 
belonged to them then. 

Yet it is, it must be she,^^ he said to himself. Can 
that be her husband with her? Has she married again? If 
she has, she may not care to - claim Kildee. But no, she 
can not help wanting her. When she sees how sweet, how 
bright she is she will be sure to claim her. My hope is 
that she will not recognize her. 

Kildee did not appear in the first part of the performance 
■ — the scenes from Macbeth — save in the banquet 
scene; where her part was merely dumb show; but when 
the guests rose from the table in amazement at Macbeth^'s 
strange behavior, Kildee^s willowy form, leaned forward, 
with wide, surprised eyes and lips apart — made a conspicu- 
ous figure in the talleau. Max watched the pair who occu- 
pied the isolated seats. He saw the man lean forward and 
fix his opera-glass upon Kildee. The woman did the same, 
but she dropped her glass in a second and drew her 
shoulders together with what seemed a shudder. Her 


96 kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 

companion bent down and spoke to her in an animated 
way. She responded. The curtain fell and a conversa- 
tion ensued between these two, which seemed agitating to 
the woman. Max would have given much to know what 
it was about. Had he been able to overhear it, his sus- 
picions would have been confirmed. 

Tlie girl is really lovely,^^ Caiieon said. I thought 
so in that brief glimpse of her I had at the spring yester- 
day. It is not often nowadays that I care to have a second 
look at a woman^s face, but this one had something new in 
it. It was her laugh that caught my attention first. Such 
a fresh, merry little peal. She had given a cup of mineral 
water to that queer, daft-looking fiddler, and he had spilled 
it on his shirt bosom and looked at her helplessly. She 
laughed to reassure him, and then she wiped the water off 
with a little handkerchief she took from her neck, and 
patted his shoulder as much as to say, ^ you^re all right. ^ 
Her face struck me as something new — the wide, brown, 
woodland eyes, the fresh rose of a mouth, and the sweet 
dignity of the brow and chin — made a novel combination. 
I had determined to see her again, even before you told 
me who she was. But are you sure, Zulimee, that this is 
the same girl — your daughter — so alleged?^^ 

Sure? Did you not see his eyes, the strong likeness to 
him ? It is fearful 

She shuddered again. He did not notice it, or at least 
paid no attention to it. 

A likeness may be accidental,^^ he said. 

^^It is not in this case. She is with the people who 
adopted her. I knew them; they occupied rooms in the 
tenement I lived in when I had the child with me. That 
fair young man took care of her when — 

When you left her to starve — tender mother!^^ Carleon 
said, with his sarcastic smile. 

I did not mean she should starve. I meant to return 
to her. I told you that. I was miserable and desperate 


kildee; oe^ the sphinx of the ked house. 97 

enough not to care much what became of myself even, but 
I meant to creep back to the garret and the child when 1 
had sold books enough to buy us food for another day. I 
had walked all the forenoon under the hot July sun; my 
head throbbed so I turned toward home — or that apology 
for home — when a sudden vertigo seized me. I fell down 
insensible, and was carried to the hospital afterward — but 
I have told you the story before. Believe it or not, as you 
please. 

He was not listening to her attentively. He seemed in a 
brown study. Presently he said: 

You will claim her now — will you not?^^ 

Claim her?^^ She gave vent to a little bitter laugh. 

I could not be paid enough to make me stay where I 
could see her every day — with that face. Besides, what 
could I do with her, pray? I can not feed myself. 

Make her feed you.'^^ 

With her pitiful earnings as a soiibrette in a small 
company of strolling players? Absurd 

She need not continue in that position. She could be 
more useful to you in — another way.^^ 

What way?^^ 

He bent his head and pulled his tawny mustache a 
second, before he said with a sidelong look into her face> 
and that expression in his eyes which so often marred 
their violet beauty: 

Since when has beauty ceased to have its price?^^ 

She reddened under her rouge, put on delicately now to 
accord with her appearance of quiet respectability. 

I understand you,^^ she said. I deserve to have you 
think me that vile; but I tell you I would die before I 
would wrong that girl in the way you mean."^^ 

There was a fierce energy in her low tones. He looked 
at her in surprise, then he said, with his sneer: 

Eeally! have we scruples?’^ 

She bit her trembling lip. You have a right to taunt 

4 


98 kildee; ok, the sphikx of the red house. 

me/’ she said. I have fallen low — low. My life is a 
record of miserable mistakes and sins and crime ” — this 
last word in a husky voice — but I repeat, I would starve 
to death before I would do such harm to that girl, who has 
Ms look and his blood in her veins. 

Yet you stole her out of revenge on him?^^ 

I did. It was a foolish and insane act. The tempta- 
tion to do it seized me like the compelling hand of a devil. 

I did not wait to know certainly that it was his child. It 
was a year before I found out the mistake — too late then 
to restore her to her parents; they had gone to reside in a 
foreign land. I was neglectful, cruel sometimes to the 
little one. God forgive me, she had such a look of him! 
I will not do her any further hurt. She is innocent now; 
those are good people that have her in charge. I trust she 
may marry that young man who cared for her so kindly — 
boy though he was. He has a good face.""^ 

A soft-looking nincompoop,'’^ Carleon said contemptu- 
ously, glowering at Max, who had just stopped playing, 
for the curtain was rising upon the closing piece, ‘"The 
Knight^s Temptation.'’^ 

The opening scene showed a room in a palace, whose 
mistress, Kildee, in white silk and roses, had just avowed 
to her astonished relatives that she would not marry the 
withered grandee chosen for her, that she would wed a man 
of her own choice, let his station be what it might. She 
declared her intention of going out in the disguise of a 
peasant-girl, that she might find some one who would love 
her for herself alone. In the next scene she has carried 
her purpose into execution. She appears in the pretty, 
simple peasant dress, dancing with other peasants at the 
fair. Eeturning across the fields, she is encountered by the 
inevitable villain, and is rescued by the inevitable knight. 
He offers her the homage of his heart. She loves him, 
but wishes to put his affection to the test, and so sends liim 
on a mission into the Black Forest and contrives that he is 


kildee; ok^ the sphinx of the red house. 99 

beset, overpowered, and left bound; is found by her attend- 
ants and herself, now in her own garb as countess and 
further disguised by differently colored hair, and conveyed 
to her palace, where he receives distinguished attentions 
and is entertained with music and feasted with wines and 
fruits. 

The countess — so grand in her rich dress and jewels that 
he does not suspect that she is the lovely mistress of his 
heart — puts forth every art to win him for herself. She 
is by turns tender and proud, wild and melting. She 
comes out presently in a ravishing gossamer dress that re- 
veals her lovely limbs, and dances before him — first 
merrily, scattering flowers and perfumes; then dream- 
ily, voluptuously, winding and unwinding about her a 
silken, silvery scarf, as the music winds and unwinds its 
alluring melodies. Again, she reclines on a divan at his 
feet — in soft, flowing draperies, and sings for him, as she 
touches a little lute, sweet, impassioned songs that take his 
senses prisoner. Then she offers him her love, her wealth, 
herself. His heart seems bursting with the struggle against 
temptation; but he resists. His answer is: Beautiful 
enchantress, my heart is not my own. You are strangely 
like my love, but you are not she. I could love you if I 
had not given myself to her. But I am hers only. 

Then the countess laughs, tears off the golden hair, and 
holds out her lovely arms, saying: I am Annetta. The 
test is ended. I am yours. 

The little piece in three short acts, was not much as a 
drama, but it was made charming by the fresh grace and 
naturalness of Kildee^s acting — her sweet voice, her ex- 
quisite dancing. Carleon followed her movements with 
gloating eyes. When the curtain fell on the last act but 
one, he turned to Mrs. Gonzalis and said: 

‘‘ You must claim that girl, and take her to Aphrodite 
Island. 

“ Never, was her answer. 


100 kildee; or^ the sphihx oe the red house. 

As you please; but listen to me. Upon your doing as 
I desire depends your future living. I will not give you 
another cent else; and how will you live?^^ 

I can die. I can stop this fever of living by my own 
hand.'^^ 

But you won^t do that, my friend; you are too coward- 
ly; too afraid of the bugbears your Mexican priests and 
grannies taught you to believe lie in wait for the sinful 
soul beyond the shadow of death. No, you wonH kill 
yourself; you will live on — but how?^^ 

She made no answer, and he went on: 

When you came to me a few weeks ago, you told me 
you had been living on the money I sent you, and that this 
was now gone. I gave you more, that you might play 
your cards boldly and entrap some old duffer into matri- 
mony. When I came here to-day to attend this meeting, I 
found you installed in a fashionable hotel, a quiet, re- 
spectable widow, reputed rich. You had been at the 
watering-place a month, and had played your fly admira- 
bly, I have no doubt, but cui iono? No fish had risen to 
the bait. And your money is all gone. UonH look to me 
for more. I will not help you, unless you are willing to 
help me. You know I mean what I say. I can be as hard 
as steel when I please. 

I know that too well.''^ 

But I have not been hard to you — on the whole. Men 
would say I had done all that honor required. And now, 
you must find some other resource. You can not work; 
you have neither energy nor strength for it. You are in- 
dolent and luxurious, and, moreover, you are the slave of a 
habit. You confessed it to me. You owned that it was 
living death to be deprived of your daily allowance of 
opium and brandy. And these cost money — how will you 
get it? The time is past when you might coin it by smil- 
ing on us fools of men. Your youth and beauty are gone; 
they have dropped from you suddenly, strangely, in the 


KILDEE; or, the SPHraX oe the red house. 101 

past eighteen months; I never saw a woman change so in 
so short a time. When you dropped in upon me so unex- 
pectedly a few weeks ago, I thought you the ghost of your 
former self — there was a haggard aspect in your face — a 
wild, haunted look in your eyes that might make one sus' 
pect you were suffering remorse for some — crime. 

His blue eyes were like points of steel. They fixed them- 
selves pitilessly on the woman. She turned ghastly under 
them; a writhing shudder passed over her as though she 
were stabbed at some vital point. 

^^Crime!^^ she uttered, trying to sneer. You are 
wild; you are simply seeking to torture me into doing as 
you desire. 

I am simply trying to make you feel that you are in 
my power, and that it is possible for me to punish you for 
your obstinate ingratitude in refusing to do what I ask. 
Now, let me show you the other side.- Claim the girl, and 
take her with you to Aphrodite Island, and you are sure of 
a support for life. I will give you a home in one of the 
island cottages, or I will settle an annuity upon you, and 
you can go where you please. 

And the girl? 

Never mind the girl; leave her to me. 

She had better be left to the mercy of a beast of 
prey.'’^ 

How do you know that? What assurance have you 
that I do not intend to marry her? She is lovely enough 
to tempt a man into such folly. I have thought seriously 
of trying the role of respectable pater familiar. I have 
tried everything else — and tired of it. 

You have thought of marrying ?^^ 

I have. I am growing middle-aged, as I don^t mind 
confessing to you. I am sick of the sort of women I asso- 
ciate with — a miserable, mercenary set, ready to gobble 
your money and play you false when they have a chance. 
It has occurred to me that it would be a pleasant change 


102 kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 

to win the love of a pure woman in a fair way and marry 
her at the altar, in the orthodox fashion — bridal-veil and 
wedding-march and priestly blessing, and all that. I have 
thought I should like to have a child to bear my name and 
fall heir to my money. Yes, I have thought of marrying; 
but where to find a wife? There is not a woman in my 
circle I would call by that title; and the fair prudes out- 
side of it have been taught to shun me, as a sort of moral 
leper, whose look is poison. This girl has never heard of 
me. She would not be afraid of me; I could make her 
love me — you know that. She is honest; she is sweet and 
refined. She would grace any man^s home. She has 
variety, too, which is better than beauty. More than all, 
she has the best blood in the State in her veins. I am too 
experienced in stock not to look to pedigree. And if I 
married her — if, mind — I would have her pedigree proved 
out; I would let it be known whose child she was. You 
say you can produce the proofs; I would have you do this, 
and I would stand between you and prosecution. With the 
aid of her family and my money and a little diplomacy, I 
could enter the ranks of respectability and become a shin- 
ing moral light — eh?^^ 

One never knows whether you are in jest or mockery. 
So you wish to marry this girl?^^ 

I did not say so; I make no promises; but there is a 
chance that I may. 

She deserves a better fate, but this is not so bad as the 
other. 

Bad? Is it not an old saying that a reformed roue 
makes the best husband? I may make a model Benedict, 
who can tell?^^ 

You will tire of her in a month. 

Possibly. ‘ One grows tired of everything,^ says your 
favorite Balzac. But when a woman has my name, she is 
part of myself. My own selfishness insures her good treat- 
ment. She should have all she wanted; and if I neglected 


kildee; ok^ the sphihx of the red house. 103 

her persoDally, I should never mistreat her. I am too 
proud for that — and too lazy — smiling languidly. Say, 
is it a bargain? Will you claim the girl? Think over the 
alternative. Be quiet. The curtain will rise in a mo- 
ment. 

She hesitated; her breast heaving, her fingers nervously 
locking and interlocking together. He . leaned back and 
watched her under his half -dropped, curling lashes. 

You will be wanting money this very night for a fresh 
supply of opium, he said. 

She gave him a dagger look, but in the next breath she 
said, in a husky whisper: 

I will do it/^ 

Thanks. I thought you were a sensible woman. You 
must put in your claim at once — to-night. They leave to- 
morrow. 

But if they refuse to give her up?^^ 

You shall back your demand with money — offer to pay 
those people for her board, etc. The old chap may refuse 
at first, but he^l think better of it. He has his flock of 
Ducks to keep up, and itinerant play-acting isn^t a lucra- 
tive business, by long odds.'^^ . 

She will not be willing to come to me.-^^ 

Naturally; you deserted her, remember. You must 
explain that, and talk of duty, and your yearning heart, 
and call up your pocket-handkerchief. You told me once 
you possessed the capacity to be a good actress. Show that 
gift to-night. The girl is young and tender-hearted, and 
will not doubt you."^^ 

‘‘Oh! what a shame to deceive her,^^ Zulimee said in a 
passionate whisper. “ But we will not deceive that young 
musician so easily, she went on, after a pause. “ And he 
will not take your money. He will require proofs that the 
girl is my child, and — that I am a proper person to take 
charge of her. 

“ Then I will bring testimony forward to prove it.-’^ 


104 KILDEE; OR^ the SPHIJs’X of the red house. 

Whose? Yours?^'’ 

No; I will not come forward at all in the matter. I 
do not wish to be known in it. It must not be known that 
she goes to the island. 

• Then how will you get the testimony 

As everything can be got — by paying for it. There is 
a man who will testify anything I wish. And he has a 
well-known character for respectability and morality. He 
is my paid tool and agent — secretly. Openly he holds me 
up as a warning and takes me as a text on depravity. He 
is here now — not in this hall — he is too pious to go to a 
play; but he came to Eock Springs on a little business of 
mine, and he has gone to a prayer-meeting to-night. ITl 
see him, and he will make it all smooth for you in the way 
of reference. You can say that a well-known and highly 
respectable gentleman is here, who can bear testimony to 
your character and fitness to take charge of your child. 
There goes the curtain at last!^^ 

They had talked without danger of being overheard. 
They occupied two chairs — a little distance from the other 
seats — and the musicians had played continuously. Yet 
Max had not ceased to watch the dark lady and her blonde 
companion. He had noted the earnestness of their talk and 
the agitating efi'ect it had seemed to have upon the woman. 
Above all, he had noticed how intently they had looked at 
^Kiidee. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The curtain fell at last. Tired Kildee repaired to the 
little dressing-room and began hurriedly to divest herself of 
her stage finery preparatory to resuming the little gray 
frock. There was a knock; a call — Kildee She 
opened the door to encounter Max^s pale face, which he 
vainly strove to make calm. 


kildee; ok, the sphinx of the red house. 105 

“ What is it, Max? Did I not please you in the play?’^ 
she asked, anxiously. 

He took the hand she laid on his arm. 

“ Please me, dear; you always please me,” he said, smiling, 
but his tones were unsteady; and Kildee was not reassured. 

“ But I must tell you,” Max went on, hurriedly. “ I 
am apprehensive of something; I can not tell you what it 
is now; it may amount to nothing. But I want you to be 
ready to go with me on the Western express which leaves 
at twelve to-night. Yes, I know we were to stay here until 
after the matinee to-morrow, but circumstances seem to 
make it best that you should go to-night. The others can 
follow whenever they please- It is nearly twelve now. Put 
on your hat and linen ulster; leave your clothes for Lottie 
to pack up and bring. Don’t ask me any questions. You 
can trust me, can’t your” 

“ Yes, Max,” she said, with a wondering, wistful look, 
and he closed the door while she finished buttoning her 
basque with hurried, trembling fingers. 

Mrs. Duck and Lottie standing outside, had heard a part 
of what Max had said to Kildee. He turned to Lottie: 

“ It- is as I feared,” he said. “ It is Mrs! Gonzalis. She 
is here to-night with a fashionably dressed roue-looking 
man. She recognized Kildee, I am sure, and the two 
watched her through their opera-glasses. Then they, talked 
earnestly together. I am persuaded she will claim Kildee. 

I want to get away with her to-night. It may be that Mrs. 
Gonzalis will not take the trouble to follow her. But I feel 
miserably apprehensive that — Good God! here she is.” 
he broke off, in an agitated under-tone, for at that instant 
the professor came up, and with him was the lady in black 
— Kildee’s reputed mother. The professor’s usually ruddy 
face was quite pale; he stammered as he said: 

“ My dear, this is Mrs. Gonzalis — Kildee’s mother.” 

Mrs. Duck folded her fat arms on her matronly breast, 
and looked beyond the lady’s proffered hand. 


106 kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 

‘‘ Is it possible Kildee has a mother? \Ye have heard of 
none these nine years/ ^ she said, with her finest queen- 
dowager air. 

“ Kildee has no mother except ourselves, cried Lottie. 

The person who mistreated her when a child, and desert- 
ed her, was not her mother, else she would not have left 
her and made no attempt to find out whether she were de^ 
or alive during all this time. 

I will explain this when my daughter comes — where is 
she?^^ 

The door of the dressing-room opened, and Kildee ap- 
peared, equipped for traveling. 

Mrs. Gonzalis approached her half timidly. 

My child,’^ she said, appealingly, my long-lost dar- 
ling, do you not remember your mother? 

Kildee fell back in amazement. 

‘‘You have forgotten me, but I would remember you 
anywhere. My child, I have sought so long my Jas- 
mina. 

The slender silken arms were around her. Kildee suf- 
fered the embrace, but extricated herself from it the next 
instant and looked around at the troubled, indignant faces 
of her friends, and then at the woman who claimed her — 
the regular but haggard features, the hollow, splendid eyes. 
There was a look in the eyes that somehow made her 
shrink. She turned to Max. He answered the appealing 
look by coming to her side and drawing her to him. He 
faced Mrs. Gonzalis. 

“ I deny your right to claim this girl,^^ he said. “ I can 
j^rove your desertion of her nine years ago. I found her 
tied in your room, half dead with fright and hunger. You 
have put in no claim for her; you have made no sign in all 
these years, and now, when you have seen her and imagine 
that her talents or her beauty may be of advantage to you, 
you come forward and demand that she leave those who 
have been parents, sisters, and brothers to her, and go with 


kilpee; ok, the sPHrax of the red house. 107 

you, a stranger, and less. No; you shall not take her 
away. She will not leave us.'^^ 

No; I will not leave them — I will not leave them,^^ 
Kildee says, clinging to Max^s arm and looking resolutely 
into the dark eyes that search hers. They are more to 
me than you can he. But for them I would have died. 
They took care of me when you forsook me.'’^ 

“ I did not forsake you, my child,^"" Mrs. Gonzalis said, 
laying her slim hand upon Kildee ^s arm and bringing those 
strange, magnetic eyes to bear upon her. ‘ ^ I did not for- 
sake you. Listen to me, my daughter, and you, good peo- 
ple, who have so much misjudged me; listen to the story 
of my life since I went out from the lodging-house that 
burning day to sell books as usual that I might get food for 
myself and this child. As I walked the blazing streets a 
sunbeam pierced my brain, and I fell insensible. I was 
carried to the hospital and there lay for many weeks at 
death '’s door through inflammation of the brain. After the 
fever left me, my mind was disordered; the past rose be- 
fore me like a procession of dim shadows. I was sent to an 
asylum for the deranged; there I remained six years. When 
I was pronounced cured and* allowed to go beyond the 
walls, I went straight to St. Louis, and to the old lodging- 
house where I had left my child. I learned that she had 
been adopted by you and your wife, Mr. Duck, having first 
been kindly cared for by this young man. But you had 
gone away some months before — no one could tell me 
where. I inserted an advertisement or two, but I had no 
money to prosecute the search for my child. I struggled 
on, the hope of seeing her growing fainter in my heart. 
At last came a relief from the grinding curse of poverty. 
The legacy of a relative placed me above want, and now, a 
few months later, there comes the still happier fortune — I 
find my child. Now I can give her a home and the ad- 
vantages of leisure and instruction. I do not forget, kind 
friends of the child, that my gain is loss to you. I deeply 


108 kildee; or, the sphihx of the bed house/ 

regret that I must take her from you. I shall always be 
profoundly grateful for your kindness; and I beg you will 
permit me to show my gratitude in another way than 
words. Kindness such as yours can never be repaid with 
mere money, but I hope. Professor Duck, that you and 
your wife will not pain me by refusing a little testimonial 
of this kind from me. It is meant only as an expression of 
my thanks for what you have done for my child. This 
purse contains notes to the amount of a thousand dollars. 
I regret that it is not more, but it shall be added to at 
some future day. 

We wonT take pay for Kildee. We wonT give her 
up,^^ cried Lotfcie, passionately. 

Papa, you can not hesitate. Eefuse the money — re- 
fuse to give up Kildee. Kobody has a right to her but 
Lis,^^ said Prank. 

But the professor did hesitate. Various considerations 
caused him to waver At length he said: 

Keep your gift for the present, Madame Gonzalis. To- 
morrow we can discuss the matter more coolly. 

But I wish to take my child with me. I can not bear 
to lose sight of her now, even for a night. Jessa, my love, 
will you not come with me? Will you not come to the 
mother who has yearned for you so long and so sadly?^^ 

She held out her arms to Kildee; the persuasive voice 
and eyes thrilled the girl, but she clung to Max. 

Oh, my child, can it be that you will not believe in 
me, that you will not acknowledge me, that you draw back 
from the arms that have so long ached to clasp you? Ah, 
this is hard— hard. ^ ^ 

She covered her face with her hands and sobbed aloud. 
Kildee stood irresolute, her mouth trembling. She made 
a movement toward her newly found mother, but Max drew 
her back. 

Madame, he said to Mrs. Gonzalis, who will vouch 
for you that you are this girPs sweet mother?^^ 


kildee; oe^ the sphihx of the eed house. 109 

She changed color under his searching eyes, hut she an- 
swered promptly: 

There are several of the best people in Wallport who 
will testify that I am her mother. I will give you their 
names, and you can write and satisfy yourself. Or, stay — 
there is no need of this. There is a gentleman now in this 
place whose word will be all-sufficient. You know, or you 
have heard of, Mr. Joel Gibson, of Wallport. He is well- 
kno^vn here as a reliable business man, respected citizen, 
and a proininent church member. I will bring him to you 
— now, to-night. 

Bring him to-morrow, madame — mother — let me stay 
with my friends to-night, pleaded the trembling girl. 

Yes, to-morrow must do,^^ interposed the professor. 

The child must not go from us now. She is greatly agi- 
tated. She must rest and be with those she loves to- 
night. 

With those she loves?^^ repeated Mrs. Gonzalis, bitter- 
ly; oh, my child, my own — ^how cruel those words are! 
But you will learn to love me. You will — ^you must. You 
will go with me? Promise this, my daughter 

She approached Kildee; she held out her arms entreat- 
ingly. 

Let your kiss be your promise,^ ^ she said, drawing the 
girl to her. 

Kildee felt those silken arms clasp her shrinking form. 
She shuddered with a dim feeling of serpent coils; but she 
had suffered the feverish lips to press her fresh young 
mouth, and she heard with a strange, dizzy, fascinated sen- 
sation the words, like a soft hiss: 

You have promised.^^ 


110 kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 


CHAPTEE XV. 

Never had Carleon^s confidential — Joel Gibson 

— looked more like a reverend clergyman or a benignant 
philanthropist than when he beamed blandly upon the 
manager of the Eucciole Troupe next morning, standing 
beside that lady-like person, Mrs. Gonzalis, testifying to his 
worthy friend ^s many virtues and severe trials, and ending 
with thanks to a kind Providence which had at last reward- 
ed this long-sufiering lady by permitting her to be restored 
to her anxiously sought daughter. 

The simple-hearted manager was deeply impressed by the 
bald head, the gold . eyeglasses and the reverend aspect of 
Mrs. Gonzalis^s ^Woucher."^^ He was profoundly touched 
by the rehearsal of that lady^s trials, her angelic fortitude 
and maternal devotion. Mr. Joel Gibson was a persuasive 
talker. He had been a clergyman once; why he was not 
now was known to nobody in Wallport but Miles Carleon. 
There he passed as a general advertising agent, with an 
office in one of Carleon ^s buildings. He was a member of 
several Christian societies, and sustained a respectable 
reputation, which did not hinder him from being secretly 
useful to Carleon, the speculator and profligate, in various 
ways. 

The*Hucks were convinced of Mrs. Gonzalis^s rightful 
claim to Kildee. It needed not Mr. Gibson ^s gentle re- 
minder that the law would sustain the lady^s claim. 

Ah, yes; it is all right,^^ the kind-hearted manager 
sighed, turning round to Max. The dear child must go. 
After all, it will be to her advantage. She will have a set- 
tled home, with no need to work for her livelihood, though 
she might have become a star in our glorious profession. 


KILDEE; OR^ the SPHIiq’X OF THE RED HOUSE. Ill 

“ She shall not go unless by her own wish/^ returned 
Max^ doggedly. 

It is by her own wish/^ said Mrs. Gonzalis, sweetly. 

You heard her declare it last evening. She has not 
changed her mind — have you, my love?^^ 

No/^ uttered the pale Kildee, who had wept herself to 
sleep in Lottie^s arms. 

Mrs. Gonzalis felt the necessity of conciliating Max. 
This sturdy, downright young man, with the clear, blue 
eyes that looked through you, was to be dreaded. 

I know how deeply my little girl is indebted to you, 
Mr. Rubin,^^ she said, earnestly. I thank you from my 
heart for your kindness to her. You have refused any com- 
pensation for the care you took of Jasmina; but Will you 
not accept this little gift as a token of my gratitude?^^ 

She touched the spring of a small morocco case; an ele- 
gant watch and chain lay on the purple velvet lining. She 
held out the gift to Max with her persuasive smile. He 
would not touch it. 

he said, ‘^Kildee is indebted to me for noth- 

ing.’’ 

Ah, incorrigible!^^ said the lady, shaking her head. 

Then I can only show you my good will by inviting you 
and your friends to come and see Kildee whenever you can. 
For the present, my home is at Wallport. There is my 
address. 

She handed Max a card on which she had written the 
number of the house she had boarded at a few days before 
she went to Rock Springs. She had not the least intention 
of returning to this address. 

And now, my love,^^ she said to Kildee, let me help 
you with your packing. We leave on the eleven o^ clock 
train. 

So soon!^^ cried Kildee, starting. Once more she 
looked eagerly in the face of her she must call mother. 
What was there i>^ that face — faded, but handsome still — 


112 kildee; ok, the sphihx of the ked house. 

which made her inwardly shiver with vague dislike and fore- 
boding? 

Max saw her pale, half -terrified look. 

I am going with you,^^ he said reassuringly. Mrs. 
Gonzalis overheard the words: a frown darkened her face. 

That will never do,^^ she said to herself. A few min- 
utes later, upon the pretext of getting a breath of cool air, 
she went out upon a side gallery where Carleon was sitting. 
Stopping near him, and bending down as though to inhale 
the fragrance of a heliotrope plant, she said : 

You will have no end of trouble with that fellow, 
Eubin. He is wild about the girl. He will follow her and 
find out where she is taken to. He is going with her to 
Wallport this morning. 

The devil he is!^^ returned Carleon, looking black. 
He chewed the end of his cigar thoughtfully. 

He^ll not go/^ he said presently. ITl find a way to 
keep him. 

Standing by the breezy window in the smoking-room. 
Max was looking out on the white, lazily drifting clouds 
and thinking of Kildee^s future. Carleon came up and ac- 
costed him in his graceful, genial way and begged leave to 
introduce himself that he might make an inquiry. 

“ I learned from your conversation yesterday, he said, 

that you are an artist, and have lately made a sketching 
tour through the South-west; have you any sketches with 
you of the scenery of that region 

Quite a number in white and black and water-colors,^^ 
Max said. 

I would like to see them and buy them if you care to 
part with them. I am making up a portfolio of sketches 
of American scenery, and have every section represented but 
the South-west.'''' 

Max was wofully in need of money, and would have wel- 
comed this proposition had it come earlier. 

I would be delighted to show you the sketches, Mr. 


kildee; or, the sphutx of the red house. 113 

Carleon/' he said; but I f^r I haven^t time. I am to 
leave on the eleven o^’clock train. 

Why, yon have half an hour — plenty of time — and the 
hotel is right at the station. Bring your drawings up to 
my room. It^s the coolest in the house — No. 15, end 
room. 1^11 go up and open the shutters. 

He did more than open the shutters. He went up to a 
little clock that ticked- on the mantel-piece and put its 
hands back five minutes. Then he took out a bottle of 
fine sherry and two little crystal cups from his portman- 
teau, and was ready for his visitor, who entered with a well- 
filled portfolio. 

Max thought him the most charming gentleman he had 
ever met — so cordial, so delicately fiattering, so delight- 
fully entertaining, full of reminiscences of art wonders in 
the Old World. But he did not forget to glance often at 
the clock. Carleon had pointed to it, saying: 

There, you have railroad time right before your eyes; 
no danger of getting left. 

Max found him a liberal as well as appreciative patron. 
He bought the sketches, giving a good deal more than Max 
had asked for them. The young artist transferred the roll 
of bills to his pocket-book in a glow of honest pleasure, 
with no dream of treachery. He then hurriedly packed his 
portfolio. 

Don^t get out of breath; you have five minutes yet,^^ 
said Carleon, laughing and holding out his hand. He gave 
Max a hearty shake of the hand and a cordial invitation to 
visit him at his suite of hotel rooms in Wallport. He re- 
peated his offer to assist the young artist in finding patrons 
if he would establish a studio in Wallport. He ended by 
pressing him to take a parting glass of wine. Max declined 
the wine, snatched up his portfolio and hurried from the 
room. 

Scarcely was he outside the door when he heard the sig- 
nal whistle of the departing train. He rushed out, un- 


114 KILDEE; OE;, the SPHIJsX of the eed house. 

mindful of luggage or duster, but, as he ran breathless to 
the station, the train glided away before his eyes. 

Mme. Gonzalis was looking from a window of the car. 
He fancied that her face wore a malicious smile. 

Curse the clock he muttered in his disappointment; 
but he had no suspicion of Carleon^s intervention. 

There would be no train till late this afternoon; he must 
wait until then. Meantime he would telegraph Hazard 
to be at the depot when the train arrived and keep an eye 
upon Kildee. He sent the message at once, and felt some- 
what comforted. Hazard would see Kildee installed in her 
new home. He did not know how preoccupied the young 
reporter was, nor what schemes were busy shaping them- 
selves in his brain. 

Max reached W allport in the night, and the next day he 
called at the address Kildee^s mother had given him — 1 10 
Palmetto Street. The servant who came to the door said 
Mrs. Gonzalis had gone away; she no longer boarded there. 
Then she asked: 

Might your name be Rubin?^^ 

Max said it was. 

There is a note here for you, then. She sent it here 
to be given to you if you should call.^^ 

Max was too eager to see the note to remark the singu- 
larity of Mrs. Gonzalis having sent the note to the address 
she had given him. He tore open the perfumed envelope 
and read: 

My dear Mr. Rubix,-^I find that my rooms here 
have been appropriated during my absence, and, as Jas- 
mina seems drooping this hot weather, I have concluded to 
take her a little trip northward. She sends love, and says 
she will be delighted to see you when we return. In the 
meantime she will write. 

Max hurried to the office ot the Rattler to interview 
his friend. 

Hid you get my telegram? Did you meet Kildee at 


kildee; oe^ the sphinx of the eed house. 115 

the train he asked, while Hazard was shaking him by 
the hand. 

“ Old fellow, you ^11 have to forgive me. I got the mes- 
sage, and meant surely to go, but was deucedly busy, and 
forgot it — let the time slip by. I^m sorry, but I dare say 
it made no matter. They got home all right. I went to 
the depot half an hour after the time, and made inquiry 
about them. The police officer there told me a lady and 
girl, unattended, had been met by a carriage and driven 
off up town. Haven’t you their addressr^^ 

Mrs. Gonzalis gave me the address of the boarding- 
house she said she would stop at for the present. I went 
there and found only a note, saying she had concluded to 
take her daughter off on a little summer trip.-’^ 

Oh, well, that^s natural enough. They^’ll be back in 
a little while, or theyTl write, and you can join them. 
Cheer up, and come with me for a walk. It^s all right. 
But Max felt it was not all right. A suspicion of foul play 
had entered his mind. He was filled with misgivings con- 
cerning the child of his boyish care, the love of his riper 
years. Could he have known that she was an inmate of 
the isolated and voluptuous mansion on Aphrodite Island! 


CHAPTEE XVL 

No wonder that young Hall had no time and little sym- 
pathy to bestow on his friend. Max, in his distress at the 
loss of Kildee. Hazard was too full of j)lans and anxieties 
of his own. Three schemes seethed in his busy brain; to 
win Honor Montcalm; to trace the murderer of her uncle, 
and to bring about the nomination and election of her fa- 
ther, thereby securing future political infiuence to forward 
his own advancement. These were the ends which he deter- 
mined to compass. Their accomplishment would have 
seemed an absurd dream to a less daring and sanguine 
spirit. 


116 kildee; oe^ the sphinx oe the eed house. 

Strangely enough, the jilans hung together by a chain 
of subtle sequence — the success of one depended upon the 
success of the other. If he could succeed in breaking off 
the engagement between Honor and Heathcliff, then Gen- 
eral Montcalm would feel free to declare himself a candi- 
date for the office he would be likely to win. Could he 
sift the murder of Captain Montcalm to the bottom and 
prove that the Mayor of Wallport was mixed up with it, 
then the connection between Heathcliff and Miss Montcalm 
would be at once disrupted, and his rival in love and op- 
poser in politics would be driven from either field. 

But how dared he dream that the upright and honored 
Ira Heathcliff had any connection with that bloody drama 
— that this man who was president of various humane and 
Christian associations was the harborer of a murderess! 
He had no ground for suspicion beyond the declaration of 
the workman that he had seen Laura Montcalm enter the 
mayor^s premises on the night of the murder — this, taken 
in connection with that mysterious note which he — Hazard 
— had read upon the mayor^s desk, and the writer of which 
he believed to be a secret inmate of the Eed House — the 
abode of the mayor ^s deformed client. 

Yes, there was a woman secreted there. It was her voice 
he had heard singing: it was her graceful shape he had seen 
through the window, it was more than possible that this 
was Laura Montcalm — the woman upon whose head so 
large a price had been set and for whom the police had 
searched in vain. 

With his brain at fever heat. Hazard hurried through his 
office work each day that he might haunt tiie neighborhood 
of the Eed House. Once or twice he heard a note of the 
same sweet voice, but he saw no one to match the voice. 
Indeed the position of the house baffled his efforts to see 
even its exterior, or what was going on in the grounds 
about it. 

He resorted to stratagem to effect an entrance into the 


kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 11? 

guarded precincts. Finding that lie could not bribe the 
vigilant negro watch-dog, he tried to obtain admission un- 
der various disguises and pretexts. He got himself up as a 
lace jieddler, a ^piano-tuner, a beggar in great distress, an 
old woman fortune-teller who had something of great im- 
portance to communicate. But none of these artful dodges 
moved the Cerberus to break his mistresses orders. He met 
every appeal with the same shake of his iron-gray head and 
the reply: Missis don^t see no company. 

At last Hazard resolved to storm the citadel more boldly. 

He buttoned a double-breasted, long- tailed coat over two 
others which he had on, in order to make his dimensions 
more imposing, donned a high silk hat, a pair of huge 
**whiskers, gold eyeglasses, and a great watch-chain and 
seal-ring, and, further equipped with a big blank-book 
under his arm and a gold-headed cane, he rang the gate- 
bell of the Eed House. 

When the old negro appeared he cut short the function- 
ary's usual formula by curtly demanding admission as an 
officer of the State— a taker of the census. The pompous 
air, the big watch-chain, and the bold command carried 
the point. The gate swung back, and Hazard presently 
found himself in the dim, musty-smelling, never-used par- 
lor of the Eed House. 

It was some time before the mistress of the house ap- 
peared. She came in at last with a slow, uncertain step, 
and, just bending her head, sunk into a chair near the 
door. It was evident that she was painfully sensitive about 
her deformity. She wore the veil of dark gauze fastened 
behind over her plentiful gray hair; but Hazard could see 
through it the purple mark disfiguring one side of her face 
and a portion of her neck, giving her a strangely repulsive 
look. Aside from this disfigurement, her hooked nose and 
wrinkled cheeks were not pleasant to look upon. She 
wore blue goggles over eyes whose lids had a trick of 
twitching and drawing together, which might be owing to 


118 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

nervous shyness or to near-sightedness. Her manner was 
fluttered and timid, yet not devoid of a certain dignity and 
reflnement. She directed a penetrating look at Hazard 
from her queer, contracted eyes behind the blue goggles, 
and he felt himself coloring under his sham whiskers; but his 
native assurance came to his aid, and he bowed to her in a 
briskly dignifled official way, and informed her that he was 
engaged in estimating the population of the city and had 
called upon her in that capacity. Then, opening his great 
blank-book with a flourish and poising his pencil, he put 
to her the customary questions of the census-taker — as her 
name, age, place of birth, and Anally the number of per- 
sons in her family. As he put the last question he kept a 
searching eye flxed upon her. She replied: 

The other persons on the premises beside myself are 
two negro servants— a man and woman named — 

The white inmates of your house first, if you please,^^ 
interrupted Hazard. should prefer to see them. In- 

deed, it is my duty to put the questions direct to all adult 
persons. 

‘‘ There is no white inmate of the house besides my- 
self. 

No member of your family, perhaps, but there is some 
other occupant — a visitor, or — 

No, sir, there is no one. I live alone. 

Is it so? Pardon me, but I must be exact — it is my 
business to be; and these questions — I need not inform a 
lady of your intelligence — must be answered as on oath. 
Do I then understand you to say that there is not, and 
has not lately been, any white person beside yourself living 
on these premises 

It is what I said, sir, and what I repeat, returned the 
lady, haughtily. She rose as though to end the interview; 
her crooked figure seemed almost to straighten, and her 
drawn eyes emitted an indignant flash upon the intruder. 

If you wish to see the two negroes, I will send them to 


kildee; ok, the sphihx of the red house. 119 

you in the yard/^ she said, dismissing him with a wave of 
her small, black-mittened hand. 

Chagrined and disappointed. Hazard yet determined to 
carry his stratagem as far as he could. He might gain 
something by interrogating the negroes. But when he had 
them before him as he sat on a rustic bench under one of 
the trees, he found that his cross-questioning failed to elicit 
anything but what he had heard from the mistress herself. 
The negro woman, a tidy, middle-aged person — had been 
with Miss Faust nearly two years; the man had been her 
factotum at the Eed House ever since she had been in 
Wallport — Seven years, come next Christmas,'’^ he said. 
It was an easy place,- only he wished “folks would quit 
worriting his mistress. She didiiT want people to come 
staring at her misformities. I never stares at her myself. 
She told me from de fust it hui:t her feelings, and I^se took 
care not to look her hard in the face ever since; I jest 
glances at her sidelike. 

The pretended census-taker departed but little wiser than 
when he came. Still, all he had heard had not done away 
with his presistent belief that there was a secret inmate of 
the house. Through all Miss Faust ^s haughty decision, he 
had, as he thought, detected a certain perturbation, and 
hesitancy that seemed to argue there was something wrong. 

But what step should he take next? There was the vacant 
building on the lot adjoining the Eed House — the same 
into the yard of which he had made his way that night, 
and climbing into a fork of a tree had seen the lady^s shape 
through the window. This building was still “ to let,^^ as 
he saw by the green card upon the door. The idea came 
to him, as by a flash, to rent the house for awhile and 
make it the base of his detective operations. An end win- 
dow near the back of the building would afford a view of 
the window in the Eed House through which Hazard had 
seen the graceful vision. 

He went at once to the real estate agent whose name was 


120 kildee; or, the sphinx oe the red house. 

on the card and rented the old out-of-repair house for two 
months. He did not, however, remove the sign to let,^^ 
nor did he occupy the building, only to slip in at odd times 
during the day and night, and make his way to the side 
window of the rear room, there to keep watch through the 
blinds upon the movements of the occupants of the mys- 
terious house. 

For awhile nothing rewarded his labors. Occasionally 
the blinds of the one window not hidden from him by in- 
tervening trees were thrown open, and he had a view of a 
pretty interior — evidently a boudoir or private sitting- 
room, with a background of pale tinted wall, relieved by 
pictures, flowers and a swinging bird^s cage of silver wire. 
Several times he had seen Miss Faust seated by the table 
reading, or standing beside the cage, feeding her birds. 
Only once had he seen her without the veil. Then she was 
evidently alone. As old Caleb had said, she shrunk from 
fully* exposing her disfigured face even to her servants. 

But it was not the deformed old recluse that Hazard 
watched for with such stealthy intentness. And as yet no 
form but her misshapen one and the rotund figure of her 
dusky maid, had appeared within the space framed by the 
long French window. Hazard hope was beginning to 
falter, but he did not relax his vigilance — rather he in- 
creased it. And at last his patient watching was crowned 
with something akin to success. One evening just at dusk, 
he saw the mayor enter the gate of the Red House. Hazard 
had followed Heathclifi at a little distance and seen him 
stop first at a book-store where he bought a new magazine, 
and then at a pretty stall, lighted with Chinese lanterns, 
where he purchased a basket of grapes arranged with their 
own fresh leaves. With the basket in his hand and the 
magazine in his coat-pocket, he mounted the stone steps of 
the terrace and unlocked the gate with a key he took from 
his pocket. No sooner was he inside the inclosure than 
Hazard hastened around the corner and made his way to 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 121 

the old house he had rented. Going round to the back 
entrance, he exchanged his boots for carpet slippers (a pre- 
caution he always took), and entered the dark empty house. 
He would light no lamp lest he should put the inmates of 
the Eed House on their guard. 

Arrived at his post of observation, he saw to his chagrin 
that the blinds of the window were closed. But another 
look showed him that the slats were turned so as to admit 
the air, and this allowed him a partial view of any object 
that might come within the lighted parallelogram. 

The evening was so still that the slightest noise made 
itself heard. He caught the sound of a rap on the boudoir 
door, and immediately a figure passed across the lighted 
space, as though coming from an adjoining room. It 
passed with a swift, gliding motion, but, in spite of the in- 
tervening slats, he saw that it was the same shapely, flexile 
form he had seen before. In another moment two figures 
were partially seen behind the turned blind. One seemed 
the mayor^s .stately, erect form ; the other was the slender 
shape which had crossed the room. She seemed to bend 
and hold out her hands as though to receive something — 
doubtless the basket of grapes. Then she lifted her head; 
the tall figure stooped, and Hazard could almost have 
sworn that a kiss had been given and received. 

They moved away from the window and Hazard saw 
them no more together. But an hour later, he saw the 
female figure again cross the space behind the turned blinds, 
and said to himself: 

She has gone to her bed-chamber.-^^ 

Hurrying out of the house. Hazard reached the corner of 
the street in time to see the mayor^s unmistakable figure 
pass a gas-lamp some distance up the street. 

Next day Hazard said to General Montcalm: 

Have you found that picture of your brother's wife?^^ 
What, the miniature painted on ivory? No, the house- 
keeper has been looking for it. She picked it up when I 


122 kildee; oe, the sphinx of the eed house. 

threw it out of the window, and put it somewhere among 
her effects. I never thought of its being useful to trace 
her. I only wanted to put the face of the cursed traitress 
and murderess out of my sight. 

Had she golden-brown hair?^^ 

Yes, and plenty of it. It was one of her most marked 
features. Why do you ask? Have you found any one you 
think may be she?^^ 

I have found a — clew,^^ said Hazard, slowly, bending 
once more over the article he was copying from one of the 
generaFs old files of political papers. A rather import- 
ant clew, I hope,^^ he added, after a pause; but the 
time is not yet ripe to disclose it. General, this old letter 
of Norton^s will tell heavy against him. He^s forgotten 
he ever uttered such rash sentiments. Their republication 
will be a startling torpedo in his path. We have a bomb 
preparing for Heathcliff, too. We are clearing the field 
for our independent candidate. It is time he entered the 
lists. When shall the ^ Eattler ^ announce you, general?^^ 

Why, I supposed I had made it perfectly clear to your 
people that it was out of the question for me to run when 
Heafchclifi— 

Was your prospective son-in-law. Yes, I know you 
urged that objection, but you also said that if the engage- 
ment were broken up — 

‘‘ But the engagement will not be broken up. They are 
to be married in a few weeks. It is fixed as fate, you under- 
stand. 

Yes, I understand,'^ Hazard repeated. But he smiled 
to himself as he thrust his note-book into his coat-pocket 
and lighted the cigar the general had just offered him. He 
did not understand that this marriage was something as 
sure as fate. As the smoke curled up in graceful wreaths 
he watched it dreamily and built upon it a prophetic vision 
of Honor Montcalm, smiling and holding out to him 
wreaths wherewith to crown his victorious brow. 


kildee; oe^ the sphihx of the eed house. 123 


CHAPTER XVIL 

The setting sun, bursting out below a black band of 
cloud that barred the west, lighted up Aphrodite Island 
with lurid illumination. Standing in the glare on the sandy 
shore was a solitary girPs figure — Kildee — looking out wist- 
fully across the waves to the maiuland, to the roofs and 
steeples of the town. White-winged sloops sailed in the 
distance, outlined against the lurid sky. A steamer, out- 
ward bound, swept by, trailing her smoke-wreath. More 
than once a wild impulse came over Kildee to signal one of 
these vessels and beg to be carried away — anywhere. But 
what could she do? Her friends had gone to a distance, 
and they had never written to her. Max had not written; 
he had not told her good-bye, even. 

He is angry with me because I came with my mother, 
and has cast me off,^^ thought Kildee, sorrowfully. 

Lottie had told her to send letters to them at New Or- 
leans, and she had written to her and to Max time and 
again, giving her letters to the solemn, taciturn Russian, 
who, with his wife, were the only servants at Aphrodite, 
and who went to Wallport for the marketing, rowing him- 
self in the little boat that was kept at the island. She 
could not know that these letters were never mailed; that 
they were brought back to Mme. Gonzalis, who took them 
from her pocket at night and burned them leisurely and 
dreamily at her lamp; Lottie ^s fervent little letters to her 

darling Kildee met the same fate. 

Max did not write, because he had been deceived by 
Mme. Gofizalis into believing that she had taken Kildee 
away for her health. 

Wistfully Kildee looked out over the sea — a bewildered 


124 kildee; or^ the sphihx oe the red house. 

pain and longing at her young heart. She was too inex- 
perienced to comprehend the situation in which she found 
herself; or to know what to do; but she felt instinctively 
that it was not good for her to be on Aphrodite Island. 
Every sunset she walked to the sea-shore, and looked, as 
now, over the expanse, of heaving sea and around at the 
tiny island that began to seem a cage. When she had seen 
it first in the glamour of a rosy sunset, it had seemed a lit- 
tle paradise; it was after the serpent had left its trail. The 
flower-beds were weed-grown; the shrubbery was growing 
rank; weeds choked the fountains and grew about the 
naked marble nymphs that guarded them. 

A subtly sensuous spirit pervaded the house inside. The 
rooms, for all their luxurious furnishing, had an air of dis- 
orderly abandonment. The pictures on the drawing-room 
walls betrayed the trail of the serpent. They mostly illus- 
trated mythological fables, and all the symmetry of the 
exquisite shapes and delicacy of flesh-tints could not veil 
their voluptuous suggestiveness. 

When Kildee first looked at them, a hot blush scorched 
her cheek. Mme. Gonzalis laughed. 

Little Ignorance she said. These are works of 
art. The most refined ladies study them and admire their 
frank fidelity to nature. You must get over this school-girl 
squeamishness. Here, let us look at the books. 

They occupied a set of shelves draped with purple velvet. 
Nearly all of them were translations of French novels. 
Balzac, Sand, and Dumas, and their more modern counter- 
parts were here in gilt Eussia. Kildee had never read any 
of them: knew nothing of the subtle evil that permeated 
them; but she had a passionate love for books, and she 
looked greedily at the wide-margined, clear-typed pages. 

You must find your chief entertainment here, my 
love,^^ said Mme. Gonzalis, sinking into a rocking-chair, 
and indicating the book-shelves with a slim finger, for I 
warn you that you will have no society here. I have no^ 


kildee; or/ the sphiin’x oe the red house. 125 

acquaintances in Wallport; nobody ever comes here^ and I 
shall be poor company for you. My nervous system is a 
perfect wreck; the mineral waters did me no good, and 
now I shall try entire rest. I will keep my room a good 
part of the time, and you must amuse yourself. 

She did keep to her room and her bed, too. She never 
rose till near noon; then she passed hours in her rocking- 
chair, reading a novel or dawdling over some fancy work, 
only getting up to feed her canary and prattle to it, or to 
fill her lozenge box, or to mix the juleps which she took 
regularly. She took something else, as Kildee presently 
found out. She was a slave to opium. 

•Thus idleness and solitude co-operated with the insidious 
spirit of the place to create a moral miasma slowly enervat- 
ing and undermining. Kildee felt it stealing over her, and 
became restless and feverish under it. The island began to 
seem a cage; the sea, at first a deep joy, became a voice of 
solemn foreboding. She sought in-doors some relief to 
the solitude that oppressed her. She found only the piano, 
the superb but tarnished old harp which she could not 
play, and the pictures and French novels. She did not 
blush so painfully now when she looked at the pictures. 
The symmetry of form, the glow of color appealed to her 
impassionate sense of beauty. The books she read with 
wonder and bewilderment. The world they revealed was 
new to her. They set her brain whirling; they confused 
her ideas of right and wrong before so clear. 

She shook off their spell and went to Mme. Gonzalis. 

Give me some work, please — something for my hands 
to do — some sewing or housework; or may I garden.^^^ 

There is nothing you need to do. I prefer to buy clothes 
ready made. Sophie does not wish her housework meddled 
with, and you need not .do anything in the yard because this 
place does not belong to me.*^^ 

Kot belong to you? Why, I thought — 

Ko; you may as well know the truth! I am living 


126 kildee; oe, the sphinx of the eed house. 

here only through the kindness of a friend. I have no 
means — not a dollar of my own in the world. 

Not your home? You have no means? But you said 
you had money — a legacy left you. 

‘ ^ Well, it is in law. I must gain a suit before it is mine. 

Then let us go away from here and work — earn money 
somehow. I can, I am sure.^^ 

Go away, work? in my weak health — what an idea!^^ 

‘‘ Let me go, then. I am strong. Let me go to the city 
and find work. There must be a great deal to do in such 
a big hive of people. Let Goff row me there; I can come 
back often, and bring you what I earn.^^ 

Foolish little dreamer! You could find nothing to do. 
There are too many anxious, unemployed, half-starved 
women there now. They would laugh at an ignorant little 
thing like you. And do you imagine I would let you go 
without me? It would be very improper. Why will you 
be so restless? Content yourself here for the time. Read 
your books, amuse yourself. I will take care you are fed 
and clothed. 

But I can not be content; I do not want to be content 
— here in somebody else^s house, fed j)erhaps by somebody 
else^s bounty. Who is the owner of the house, and where 
is he?^^ 

He is called Carleon, and I do not know where he is. 
He has other homes, and he travels a great deal. We are 
welcome to sta}^ here."’"’ 

But I do not want to stay here, and I can not. The 
place seems like a jail to me.^^ 

It is because you have led such a roving life with those 
play people.-’^ 

Oh! would to Heaven I were with them now!^* Kildee 
cried passionately. 

They do not seem to share your wish!^^ returned Mme. 
Gonzalis, a faint sneer upon her mouth. You have 
never heard from them, I think. 


KILDEE; the SPH1]S^X of the red house. 127 

Something is wrong: they have written, I know; they 
have not forgotten me so soon. 

I do not know. Those stage people are light. Their 
profession makee every feeling seem a sort of play, on which 
the curtain can easily drop. Mark my words, they will 
never trouble themselves about you."^^ 

I will not believe it; they are good and true. Lottie 
loved me, I know; and Max — oh! Max has cared for me 
and watched over me nearly all my life.'"^ 

He wanted you to play a support to the girl, Lottie — 
his lady-love. He is her lover — I could see that. He will 
probably marry her in a little while. 

^‘Max Lottie ^s lover! Oh, how absurd !^^ said Kildee, 
tears of bitter vexation springing to her eyes. 

^MVhy is it absurd questioned the Spanish woman, 
sharply, her black eyes full on Kildee'^s face. Kildee could 
have given no reason. She only said: 

Everything is absurd that you have told me about my 
friends. It seems so mean to look at them in that light. I 
can not bear it. I wish they had let me die in the garret. 

You are merely learning what life is, Mrs. Gonzalis 
said, coolly eating a sweatmeat from her lozenge-box. 

Is everybody selfish and heartless, then?^^ 

Yes; every one,^^ the woman said, with bitter empha- 
sis. 

1^11 meet them with their own weapons, then!^^ Kildee 
cried. Ifil go out in the world and arm myself with selfish- 
ness, and fight for and win a place to stand and work in. 
1^11 make Goff take me with him to-morrow. You must 
not try to keep me from going. I will come back when I 
have seen what I can do. 

Mrs. Gonzalis did not reply; but that evening she sent a 
note to Carleon. It had been his idea to let Kildee stay a 
few weeks in his home on the island that solitude, the 
separation from and seeming neglect of her friends, and the 
sensuous influences surrounding her might operate on her 


128 kildee; oe, the sphikx of the bed house. 

sensitive imagination and make her more ready to welcome 
his society when he should come. He had reasoned subtly. 
In solitude the mind feeds on its own imaginings, and when 
these are stimulated by insidiously evil surroundings the 
whole being becomes fevered. Kildee vaguely felt the 
moral malaria creeping into her young blood, and all the 
pure, strong instincts of her nature rose against it and 
urged her to escape from these influences. 

I will tell Goff he must take me to the main shore to- 
morrow, she said to herself, as she stood in the red sunset 
illumination, watching the Eussian^s returning boat. She 
had seen it a long way off, and waited impatiently for it to 
approach. She had still a faint hope of hearing from her 
friends — from Max at least. At last, the boat grated on 
the sand, the tall Eussian stepped out. 

Goff, is there a letter for me?^^ 

He shook his head. She turned off with starting tears. 

Let them go/’ she mused bitterly. I will never 
write to them, never think of them again. Yes, they are 
light, as she said; they are heartless. How could they 
seem to love me so and then so soon forget me! And Max, 
who was more than a brother — I must put them out of my 
thoughts and make a new begiiming of life to-morrow. 
Goff, she said, turning round to the Eussian, are you 
going to the city in the morning: 

Yes,^^ he answered gruffly. 

I am going with you. You go early, I think; I will 
be ready. 

He looked at her without speaking. His stolid stare dis- 
turbed her. She did not know that he had been told she 
was wrong in her head,^^ and was kept on the island as in 
a kind of private asylum. He had no intention of doing 
as she said, unless Mrs. Gonzalis sanctioned her wish. 

The next morning Kildee was vexed to hear that Goff 
had gone before she eat her breakfast. Something was 
needed in a hurry, Mrs. Gonzalis explained, and Kildee was 


KTLDEE; or, the SPHI2>X of the red house. 129 

forced to postpone her trip to the main shore. She did not 
know when the Enssian returned. She passed the long, 
warm afternoon in her room reading. When the shadows 
lengthened she went down to the shore and stood there 
motionless, thinking over the vague plans she had been try- 
ing to shape for her future. When the sun^s red ball had 
drojDped below the water, she went back to the house, and 
sat down near a west window in the drawing-room. The 
sunset crimson faded into purple. Shadov/y, yet life-like 
looked the tiptoe Danae on the wall — naked, passion-pale, 
with eager, lifted arms, to receive her descending Jove. 
The jasmine scent was overpoweringly sweet, so was the 
low murmur of the sea winds. 

Oh, if I had some one to share this life with me!^^ was 
the unspoken sigh of the girl, whom the sweet, voluptuous 
idleness stung to a vague unrest. 

She started up. She had heard a note of music — a mel- 
odious quiver of the strings of the old gilded harp, standing 
in the recess of the curtained bay-window. She stood per- 
fectly still and listened. The strings were touched again; 
harmonious chords were struck; then they grew into a faint 
symphony. J'hrough the fringes of the curtains she had 
glimpses of a black-clad arm, a white hand sweeping the 
strings. She softly approached the recess, and when the 
music stopped she drew back a fold of the curtain, ex- 
claiming: 

Why, mamma, you never told me you could play on 
the harp!^^ 

She started. She had come face to face with a stranger 
— a man, fair, handsome, with dark blue eyes that smiled 
kindly on her confusion as he rose, and bending his grace- 
ful head before her, begged that she would not let him 
drive her away. 

If you will stay and read as absorbedly as you were do- 
ing just now, I will make no more disturbing noises. This 
old harp shall be as silent as the one that hung — 

,5 


1^0 kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 

“ * On the witch-elm that shades St. Filan’s Spring.’ 

I only played to see if you were real flesh and blood or a 
new statue that had been added to my collection in my ab- 
sence. 

Then you were here all the while 

I came in while you were reading — or dreaming, which 
was it? I came home to-day, at noon, while yon were tak- 
ing your siesta, and I went to my room to follow your ex- 
ample, for I was worn out with traveling. 

You are not the owner of the island, surely?’^ 

Why not?^’ 

Oh, I thought he was an old, or at least an elderly 
gentleman. 

I am elderly, Carleon said, with his smile. 

‘‘ You?^^ She shook her head. 

Yes, I am the owner of the island — Carleon you may 
call me. I doiFt come here often. I am a wanderer, but 
I like to drop sometimes and fold my wings for a little rest. 
Don^t let my advent put you out at all. Mrs. Gonzalis 
kno\vs my ways. I am a quiet old bachelor — as harmless 
as your pet kitten — if you have one, which I doubt. You 
looked as solitary as Iphigenia, standing out yonder on the 
sea-shore. ^ So he was watching me, then,^^ thought 
fluttered Kildee, marveling at the fascination of his voice 
and the sweetness of his smile. ) 

I am afraid you are lonely here. 

It is lonely sometimes, Kildee admitted. My 
mother is not well, and likes to be left to herself.'’^ 

Why donT you make this grand lady talk to you?^^ — 
touching the harp. 

I have never learned the magic word to compel her to 
speak. 

‘‘And you would like to learn 

“ Yes, I love music. I can play a little on the violin 
and the banjo, but I know nothmg .about the harp; only I 
like it. Its sound makes me think of winds and waves/^ 


KILDEE; or, the SPUIJ^X OF THE RED HOUSE. 131 

It was made out of the soul and form of a sea-n3^mph, 
you know. What! You have not heard the legend? 
Listen.-^’ 

He swept his white hand over the chords in the rippling 
prelude to the Origin of the Harp/^ then sung it; the 
sensuous sweet air according well with his rich deep-throat- 
ed voice. 

I shall stay on the island longer than usual, this time, 
I think; will you let me teach you a little on the harp:^^ 
he asked, running his fingers through his light curls and 
looking up at Kildee. 

You are very kind, but we are not to be here long — at 
least I am not. 

Where are you going?^^ 

I don^t know yet — I am going to get something to do. 
It seems we have no money — only the prospect of some; so 
I am going to work and earn a support for us. 

You — my child?^^ smiling in kindly derision. What 

can you dor^^ 

Nothing that is great or grand. I am quite ignorant, 
but there are many little things I can do, and do well; and 
I am quick to learn. I don^t dislike to work either, 
though it is pleasant to do nothing sometimes. 

If you are spoiling for something to do, I wish you 
would take my gardener in hand and put him to work get- 
ting the grounds in better condition. They are sadly gone 
to wreck. The shrubbery and flower-beds are nearly ruined. 
Can I employ you as supervisor ?^^ 

Employ, Mr. Carleon; you can command our services. 
We are dependent on you,^^ she answered with a little bit- 
terness in her tones. 

I like to think I can command you, but you must not 
speak of dependence. You are my guests. Mrs. Gonzalis 
is an old friend. And now, if I may command you, will 
you please have the candles lighted 

I will light them,^^ she said, and went across the hall 


132 kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 

to Mrs. Gonzalis^s room for matches. She found that lady 
restlessly walking the floor. 

Come here, Kildee/^ she called sharply, and when the 
girl approached, she put her hands on her shoulders and 
looked keenly into her face. 

You have seen Mr. Caiieon; you have talked with 
him?^^ 

Yes — mamma. AVhy did you not tell me about him?^^ 

AVhy should I tell you?^^ 

AVhy, that he was so — so nice and pleasant. 

And handsome 

Oh, he is very handsome, said Kildee, coloring under 
the woman^s searching eyes. ‘‘ He asked me to light the 
tall wax candles; they have not been lighted since became.. 
Ought I not to change my dress before tea?^'’ 

Yes; go, I will light the candles. 

She is partly under his spell already, Mrs. Gonzalis. 
whispered to herself, sinking into her cliair, and locking 
her slim, nervous fingers. And if he should not marry 
her! but he must. He shall not wrong her.'’^ 

When Kildee came to tea in the simple white dress with 
the short clustering curls bound back with a ribbon, she 
looked so innocently lovely that a shade of remorse swept 
over Mme. Gonzalis^s face, and she threw an appealing 
look at Oarleon. He answered it with a careless half-smile 
and a shrug of his fine shoulders. 

There was beautiful moonlight, and the three walked on 
the terrace after tea. Carleon put forth his rare powers of 
pleasing — his art of varied talk and suggestive silence — of 
listening with that rapt, flattering attentiveness; his low,, 
liquid laugh, his interest in the health and welfare of the 
being he wished to fascinate. 

It was not hard to seem in this case. It was seldom his 
Uase eyes had rested on anything sweeter than Kildee in 
her white dress, with the poetry of her nature giving a pe- 
culiar, unspeakable grace to her movements and to every- 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 133 

thing she said. She was so happy at having companion- 
ship afteMier long loneliness. 

And such companionship! She listened to him in de- 
light. His gentle, respectful appreciation won her from 
her shyness and charmed her into uttering thoughts and 
feelings she had expressed to no one, not even Max. For 
not even he seemed to understand her like this sweet-voiced, 
sympathetic stranger, not crudely young and over joyous, 
but with a shade of melancholy in his polished tones and 
his dark blue eyes. 

Have I made a good impression?^^ Carleon asked of 
Mme. Gonzalis, when Kildee had said good-night. 

He Avas leaning against a tree, lazily puffing at his fresh- 
ly lighted cigar. 

Ko need to ask the Avoman answered, bitterly.. 

She was remembering old loves and old wrongs. 

Surely some Mephistopheles gave you the power of 
charming whom you please. Have you also the gift of 
perennial youth? Will you never grow old, never re- 
pent ?^^ 

He laughed low. 

See you signs of either in my aspect? But say, is not 
the little one a sight to make even an old man young? 
Such a lightsome step, such a bird-like glance! Will the 
bird come easily into the trap, think you?^^ 

No,^^ Mme. Gonzalis said, shortly. 

I don^t object to that. I like difficulty. She has the 
passionate purity of J uliet. 

You surely mean to marry her; you promised — 

Not I. I made no promise. 

But you will — you surely Avill?^^ 

Nous verro7is. It depends upon my mood and upon 
her.^^ 

I will not see her Avronged. I will warn her — I Avill 
take her away. This is too Avicked, too dreadful !^^ 

Yes,^^ he answered, dryly. It is pretty bad — worse^, 


134 kildee; ok^ the sphikx of the eed house. 

no doubt, than work, and debt, and hard fare — doing with- 
out wines and French bonbons and — morphine. 

She sat silent, faint quivers passed through her frame. 
He knew his shot had told. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

The dead calm of the day was about to be broken. Signs 
of strife were, in the air. In opposite quarters of the sky, 
clouds were marshaling their forces. Tongues of flame 
leaped out at intervals, muttering thunders grew louder as 
the aerial cohorts neared their meeting in mid-heaven. 
Presently down rushed the rain flood. 

Miss Montcalm and Ira Heathcliff watched it from her 
drawing-room window. She did not blanch at the light- 
ning; a chord of her being responded to the music of the 
storm. When the climax came in a thunder-burst that 
seemed the clash of colliding Titans, she snatched her 
fingers from her lover's hold and clasped her hands with an 
imjDulse more full of ecstasy than fear. 

He looked at her uneasily. Dearly as he loved her, there 
were some moods of hers that troubled him. He caught 
glimpses in her of a restless intensity, an impatience of 
commonplace, an impassioned love of the grand and heroic 
wdiich made it difficult, if not impossible, to reach or keep 
up to the standard she exacted. 

It was a glorious thing to be loved by such a spirited, 
high-bred creature, but there was not much rest in it. 

When, at length, the fire and sound of the cloud-contest 
were quenched in the down-pour. Honor drew a full breath 
and turned her deep-lit eyes upon Heathclifl. 

I like that,'' she said. It electrifies me to my finger 
tips. I like lightning whether it flashes from clouds or 
human faces. I^ might never have given you a second 


kildee; or, the sphixx of the red hohse. 135 

thought. Sir Ira, had I not seen the lightning flash from, 
those cloudy gray eyes upon the burly policeman who wag 
dragging the old man to the lock-up, in spite of his little 
daughter's protest that he was not drunk, but only sick. 
That flash made the big brute drop his raised club and 
hang his head as though struck by a veritable thunderbolt; 
do you remember 

• I remember who stopped her carriage and took the old 
man to the hospital — a good act, that made me give a sec- 
ond thought to one I had heard of as a mere city belle^ 
with a heart as light as her plumes. 

As I had heard of you, sir, as a man without any such 
troublesome appendage as a heart — a money-making ma- 
chine, grim and hard as the engines in your pet factory; 
your championship of the old man showed a wider side to 
your character. As for a softer side — 

You saw that when I fell in love with you and became 
as wax in your hands. 

Not much of the wax in your composition,^^ she said, 
looking up with pride at her square-shouldered, firm-lipped 
hero. Not much softness, even in your love-making,^^ 
she added, presently. 

He detected the slight bitterness there was in her tone. 

I told you, dear Honor, that it was not my nature to 
show enthusiasm. 

Yet you do possess enthusiasm. You show it in the 
pursuit of money and honors. Your ambition, though it 
is so quiet, is deep and strong. Ira,^^ teasingly, but with a 
questioning wistfulness in her dark eyes, I do believe you 
look forward more anxiously to the fifteenth of November, 
when you will probably be elected, than’ to the twentieth of 
September (only thi*ee weeks off; I can hardly realize it), 
when Honor Montcalm will give herself into your keeping 
— perhaps. 

You know well that is not so. But why do you say 
^ perhaps'^? Why should there be any ‘ perhaps ^ in the 


136 kildee; ok^ the sphihx of the eed house. 

case? What bat death can interpose to prevent our mar- 
riage 

Oh! many things/^ she answered, archly, but with a 
slight shade on her brow. One of us may find out that 
he or she is not what had been believed; or I may draw 
back on the brink, afraid of that step in the dark, which 
means more than life or death to a woman. Marriage is a 
great risk.^^ 

Are you afraid to dare it. Honor 

Again she looked up at him. Her subtle glance seemed 
trying to pierce through his eyes to his inmost heart and 
read its secrets. 

she answered at last. I am not afraid to dare 
it — for you. You have told me I was first in your hearty 
and you are true.^^ 

She waited as if to receive some answering assurance to 
her words, but he only tightened his clasp upon her hand. 
She fancied that a cloud crossed his face. 

Yes,^^ she repeated, I know that you are true. I 
put truth above tenderness; honor above love. With me 
to doubt would be to despise. At the first false ring I 
should detect the base metal and cast it from me. 

And you are quick to detect the false ring — to listen 
for it. 

Ah, you think me suspicious. My father says I am. I 
do not believe it. He says, too, that 1 require those I love 
to come up to impossible ideals. Ho you think I am such 
an impracticable dreamer 

He evaded the question. You do dream impracticably 
sometimes, do you not? Vor instance, that dream about 
the white hand and arm reaching out and tearing off your 
bridal veil at the altar. Confess that it was this same 
dream that made you say ^perhaps ^ just now when you 
spoke of our marriage. Yes, and it is this that influences 
you not to want any one invited to witness it. 

No, it was not the dream. I am not quite so supersti- 


kildee; or^ the sphinx oe the red house. 137 

tious. It was — 1^11 let you call it a mere whim. I can^t: 
analyze it. For one thing, there is no need of invitations. 
Our friends will all be at the church that night to see the 
marriage of Cousin Monde and Doctor Carlton. Let the 
double wedding come as a surprise. Then I did not want 
Madame Grundy to be gossiping about my marriage before- 
hand. 

Saying that; the sole daughter of the proud house of 
Montcalm is about to stoop her bright head and wed a plain 
maker of cloth, with no coat-of-arms but a steam-engihe — 
Father, Madame Grundy will declare that Honor 
Montcalm has played her cards cleverly and won a rich 
husband to prop the decaying fortunes of her house. ^ A 
good thing for her,^ madame will say, with a shrug, ^ but 
for hwi ! Well, he will have his hands full.^ 

Fortunately he likes to have his hands full,^^ said the 
stately lover, smiling down into her eyes, while he held 
both her delicate hands between his broad palms. Her 
proud eyes grew misty and her lip quivered as she returned 
his look. It was plain to be seen it was not for his money 
this beautiful woman loved her rich suitor. 

One who watched her felt this with a pang of keen pain. 
The intensity of a look drew her eyes to the window which 
she sat facing. It opened on the piazza. A dark face ap- 
peared between the dropped lace curtains; a hand beckoned 
to her imperatively. She hesitated before she obeyed* the 
summons. She would not do it covertly. 

Excuse me a moment, she said. Mr. Hall beck- 
oned me at the window. He has been with papa in the 
library. Papa wants me, I suppose.'’^ 

She parted the curtains of the French window and 
stepped out upon the piazza. Young Hall had wididrawn 
further from the window, and stood leaning against a 
pillar. 

“ Don^t look at me so witheringly; I have not been eaves- 
dropping,^^ he said, as she came near. I have just come. 


138 kildee; or, the sphij^x oe the red house. 

from your father^s room. I was going out when I caught 
a glimpse of your face lighted up with such love, such trust 
for Mm — that man who is not worthy of you. I could not 
resist the sudden impulse to warn you against him once 
more. He is not true. He visits at the Red House, and 
it is not as the business agent of a deformed old woman. 
There is another — a secret inmate of the Red House — a 
young and beautiful woman. It is she Mayor Heathclilf 
goes to see. 

He turned olf and ran down the steps into the rainy, 
dimly-lighted night. She stood listening mechanically to 
his footsteps on the sodden walk, wondering if he were 
mad, or if it was bitter malice that made him traduce the 
man whom fortune had placed above him. She went back 
into the drawing-room, but the perfect charm of the hour 
w^as fatally flawed. She dreaded to be questioned, and was 
in no mood to talk or listen; so she went to th6 piano and 
played all Heathclift’^s favorite pieces, winding up wdth 
something full of minor chords and sobbing cadences that 
chimed well with the dreary night. 

When at length she stopped and leaned back wearily, 
Heathclilf said: 

You look tired. I will not keep you up any longer. 
I had forgotten you were at the j^arty last night. 

I looked for you; why were you not there? 

I had to be busy; besides, I do not care for parties, as 
you know. I go nowhere but as business calls me, only 
here,"’ 

And to the Red House — 

Oh, that is one of the places where business calls me."^^ 

Are you very surer^^ — smiling pla}dully but with keen 
earnestness in her tones. Is there no one at the Red 
House but old Miss Faust?’^ 

Not another white soul. I never met any one there in 
my life but Miss Faust and her two black servants. She 
admits no visitors. 


KILDEE; OE^ THE SPHIHX OF THE EED HOUSE. 139 

The assertion was emphatic enough; yet Honor was not 
quite satisfied. Her ear detected a slight unsteadiness in 
his tones, her eye perceived an unmistakable change in his 
countenance — a slight twitching of the muscles about his 
mouth. Was he speaking falsely? 

She tried to drive away the doubt as absurd and disloyal, 
but it would not down at her bidding. It haunted her 
after he had gone. 

I foresee it will torture me into seeing young Hall again 
and demanding him to prove his assertion — to let me see 
with my own eyes. To humble myself so is humiliating: 
but I must do it. There can be no rest for me until I do.^' 

One while she half determined to tell Heathclilf what 
young Hall had said, but her promise had been given to 
Hazard not to speak of it. Then the consequence might 
be serious. It was plain that both men disliked each other 
already. She knew Heathcliff^s stern nature, Hazard^s 
fiery recklessness. A quarrel, a fight, a scandal w^ould 
probably result should she tejl her lover of the warning she 
had received. Nor could she bring herself to speak of it 
to her father. Setting aside her promise not to do this, 
she could not bear to break up the strong attachment ex- 
isting between her father and his young protege. The 
general looked lost if young Hall did not drop in once a 
day for half an hour to discuss political news and gossip in 
his brilliant, sharp, cynical way. She determined to wait; 
all might be explained. Hazard was perhaps honest in his. 
warning; only he was, yes, he surely must de deceived. 
And yet that change of countenance, that unsteadiness of 
tone when the mayor had answered her question concerning 
the inmates of the Eed House — what did they mean? 


140 KILDEE; OK^ THE SPHIIs'X OF THE RED HOUSE, 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Whek Kildee came down to the beach next morning, in 
pursuance of her plan to have Goff row her to Wallport, 
she found Oarleon seated in the boat, idly dipping the oars 
into the smooth water. 

‘‘1 have set Goff to work on the shrubbery,^ Mie said. 

Will you accept me as a gondolier? This blue water and 
bluer sky suggests Venice. 

As he stood up to arrange the buff and white awning he 
looked down at Kildee and said, persuasively: 

It is early; suppose we row around the island before 
going across to shore. You would like to see the limit of 
your little empire. 

Kildee felt no disposition to object. The morning was 
fine, and her spirits rebounded from their previous depres- 
sion. Carleon was merry and kind. He said not a word 
to dissuade her from her idea of being independent, but 
before the row around the island was over he had artfully 
induced her to intrust her plans to him to forward. He 
had promised to find out what employment she could ob- 
tain in W allport, and to see about board for her mother 
and herself. 

I know you find it lonely here,^^ he said, and I un- 
derstand your wish to be independent ; it is a natural and 
right feeling. Still, I am selfish enough to wish you to 
stay as long as I remain. I know this house is not home- 
like or neat, with all its fine appointments. Plow could it 
be when it scarcely has even a servant’s carer it is almost 
imi^ossible to get native servants to stay in such a lonely 
place. A house, to be home-like, must have the frequent 
touches of a woman’s hand. ” 

Kildee mentally resolved that she would attack the dis- 


kildee; oe, the sphihx of the eeh house. 141 

order of the mansion next day, and would help Goff with 
the shrubbery and flower-beds. She had not been per- 
mitted to do anything about the place before. The work 
would be a boon to her. 

The boat had moved very lazily round the little island. 
Carleon stopped often to point out some aspect of water 
or sky or sand-bar, some wave skimming bird or clump of 
shrubbery or bit of rock-work on the shore. By the time 
they returned to the landing and the little boat house it 
was noon, and the sun was hot overhead. 

‘‘We will go home and get some luncheon, Carleon 
said, and I will go to Wallport this afternoon and see 
what opening I can find for you.'’^ 

They had luncheon together in the cool little breakfast- 
room, where roses nodded at the window. The freshly- 
gathered grapes, the red-pulped figs and cream, the butter 
and foam-like bread, were enjoyed by Kildee with unalloyed 
zest. Afterward she took her first lesson on the harp. 
Then Carleon induced her to read to him. He lay on the 
divan, listening to her fresh voice and watching the long 
brown lashes drooping against her cheeks, and the round 
arms escaping from the loose muslin sleeves. The trip to 
Wallport was postponed until another day. 

The next morning Kildee, in a cool print gown and white 
apron, busied herself for several hours in dusting furniture, 
arranging books and pictures, and making the rooms more 
tidy. In the afternoon she helped Goff, who was at work 
trimming the vines and hedges. Carleon came out and 
lent the help of his white, plump hands. As he was tying 
up a long refractory spray of Lady Banksia his hand 
touched Kildee ^s, his fingers closed over hers, and he said: 

“ Enough work for to-day. We will go now and look 
at the ‘ Illustrated Dante ^ I told you of. I found it this 
morning. The pictures are worth studying. I will bring 
it out to the summer-house.^^ 

In the shade of the large leaves, just stirred by the sea- 


142 kildee; oe^ the sphikx oe the bed house. 


breath, Kildee listened, for the first time, to the deep organ 
music of Dante^s verse. 

Carleon would have read her the story of Erancesca Di 
Eimini, but as he began it he glanced up and saw her sit- 
ting near him — her little face so sweetly intent, so thought- 
ful yet childlike, under the shady hat, one hand lying across 
her white-aproned lap with a cape jasmine bud in the slim 
fingers; when he saw her thus he stopped short. Frances- 
ca^s story would be too discordant to that picture. He 
shut the book. 

We will go and feed the pigeons, he said. 

The summer days went by. Carleon professed to have 
found a situation for Kildee in Wallport — a place in the 
mailing department of a paper. But it would not be vacant 
for a week yet. Meantime, she found household work 
enough to interest her, and she had the most fascinating 
companionship in the world. Carleon was at his best. He 
was acting en masque — his real nature wholly put aside. 
The new role amused him. And he was thoroughly inter- 
ested in Kildee; more than interested, he became charmed. 
He tried to throw off the feeling with his usual careless dis- 
dain, but it had fastened upon him. Fate meant through 
it to work her revenge upon the man who had laughed at 
all deep, earnest feelings. Never before had this man been 
thrown into daily domestic association with a nature pure 
and sweet, yet bright and intelligent, with a singular^ 
quaintly-charming mixture of childish frankness and wom- 
anly dignity. He did not find her as wax to his hands 
either. She did not absorb his views when they were con- 
trary to her clear intuitions. She swept away his senti- 
mental cobweb sophisms with a single breath of her clear 
common sense. She looked up to him with undisguised 
admiration; sometimes he fancied she was under the glamour 
he boasted he could thrown over any woman he tried to 
win; a sun-bright glance, a free laugh, a frank, fearless 
utterance would prove to him that she was unfettered. 


kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 143 

He became impatient; his undisciplined nature chafed 
against the restraint he was obliged to exercise over it. 
This elusive creature, half Kelpie, half domestic fairy, held 
him aloof by a strong yet frail-seeming spell that he grew 
savagely anxious to break. It became hard to wear the 
mask. 

It will drop some day, he said to himself. And it 
did. 

He had dreaded to have the mask slip, because he felt 
that the girl would hate him if she caught but a glimpse of 
his real self. He had abandoned any thought of winning 
her dishonorably. She was to be his wife, and he was try- 
ing to gain her lova Never before had he been other than 
self confident where winning a woman was concerned; but 
now he became feverishly anxious, almost timid. He 
trusted to keep her blinded to his true character until she 
was firmly bound to him. She was so young, she had had 
little experience; it was not likely she would suspect him 
of being other than the kind, noble being he seemed. He 
did not take into account the swift, lightning-hke instincts 
given to woman for her guide and protection — instincts 
that flash conviction upon the mind in a single instant, in- 
dependent of reason. 

At the cloudy close of a day the two were together in the 
drawing-room. Carleon had just finished giving Kildee 
her lesson on the harp, and he sat idly twanging the strings, 
with his eye fixed on Kildee, who was sitting near the win- 
dow watching, the cloudy dajdight- fade over the unquiet 
sea. Presently he struck some soft chords and began to 
sing an impassioned love-song. Kildee, listening, was 
stirred by the wistful melody. It bore her thoughts away 
beyond the words or the music, to the friends she had 
loved and had lost by a fate, it seemed, more cruel than 
death. A wave of wild yearning went over her; she bowed 
her face on her hands. 

In an instant Carleon was beside her. Now (he believed) 


144 kildee; oe^ the sphihx of the bed house. 

was his hour. He put his arm around her and tried to 
draw her to him. She shrunk from him firmly^ yet with 
gentleness, and he desisted, wondering at himself. But he 
took away one of the hands that covered her face and put 
it to his cheek. 

Tears on these little fingers,^ ^ he said, tenderly. 

Dearest Kildee, why are you sadr^^ 

He thought he understood the cause of her emotion — 
that it was the awakening of love for himself. She was 
troubled, embarrassed; she tried to draw her hand away. 

I was tliinking of my friends who used to love me,^^ 
she said. I was thinking of Max — 

Max He was savagely disappmnted; his fingers 
closed fiercely upon her hand; he drew her to him with 
passionate force. 

You must forget Max, he said. You are mine — 
mine 

She looked up at him — a quick, startled glance. The 
mask had fallen. In the gloating animal eyes, as he looked 
down at her, she read the true nature of the man. With 
sudden strength she wrenched herself free from him and 
ran from the room. 

She reached her own chamber and stood clinging to the 
chimney-piece, her heart throbbing like a fawn that hears 
the dogs. 

What must I dor^^ was the confused query that came 
with the impulse to quit the place at once. 

She heard a step behind her, and started up, remember- 
ing that she had not fastened her door. She saw a strange 
woman coming toward her, a woman of fine, large shape 
with black, defiant eyes and curled red lips. She stopped 
before Kildee and looked at her from head to foot. 

So this is my successor she said, with a sneering turn 
of her lip. 

Who are you? What do you want herer^^ Kildee 
asked. 


KILDEE; OK;, THE SPHIKX OF THE RED HOUSE. 145 

^^You can guess who I am, I thihk.> As to why I^m 
come to this house, that is my business. I^m here in your 
room to take a look at my lord^s latest fancy. Such a 
fancy! A baby face, a chit in short frocks 

What do you mean?^^ demanded Kildee. The woman 
laughed a coarse, grating laugh. 

You know very well what I mean,^'' she said. DonT 
play innocence with me. ^ 

I think you mean to insult me. Leave the room this 
instant Kildee cried. She had crimsoned under that 
look and laugh. Now she faced the intruder, white with 
scorn, and pointed imperiously to the door. 

Instead of going the woman dropped into a seat and 
stared into the girhs clear, proud eyes. 

How finely you caiTy it off! One would think — But 
no; I know better. You neediiT trouble yourself to put 
on those airs with 

With you? Who are you?^^ 

Can^t you guess? Hasn^t he told you in his sneering 
way of Madeleine, whom he cast off like a half- worn glove? 
Hefil throw you off in the same way when he tires of you, 
and it doesiiT take him long to get tired, as this house 
could tell if its walls could speak. 

Are you speaking of Mr. Carleon? Is he really a 
wicked man?^^ 

The woman caught up the candle from the table and 
held it close to Kildee^s face, and gazed at her a full half 
minute without speaking. Then she said, in an altered 
voice : 

‘ ^ Tell me honestly, woman to woman, what are you to 
Miles Carleon 

Nothing — the acquaintance of a few days. 

Then what in God^s name are you doing in this house?^^ 

My mother brought me here. Mr. Carleon is an old 
friend of hers. He kindly offered her the use of his house 
until she found a home. 


146 kildee; oe^ the sphi^^x of the eed house. 

Kind! And you say that woman — Madame Gonzalis — 
is your mother? I did not know she had a daughter. 

“ I was separated from her when I was a little child. 
She found me only a few weeks ago. 

Your mother! And she brought you here! She knew 
Miles Carleon; she knew this place. Child, it is a horrible 
pity that you should be here. Shall I tell you why you 
were brought here?^^ 

Ko, tell me nothing more!^"" cried Kildee, pale as 
death, but with steady resolve in her eyes. I am going 
away, now, this very night. 

You don^t want to stay then; you don^t care for him; 
he has not thrown his spell over you?^’ queried Madeleine 
rapidly. She peered close into the girFs face with eager 
eyes. Kildee drew back and motioned her off with a ges- 
ture quietly imperative. She vouchsafed no answer to the 
woman ^s question; she only asked: 

How did you come to the island?^^ 

I got a man to row me here; the boat is waiting for 
me now. I brought a folding-ladder to get over the wall."^^ 

Show me where it is; I will find the boat and send it 
back for you, if you are not going now. 

As she spoke she caught up her hat and put it on. Then 
she threw open her trunk and took out the little green net- 
ted purse, containing three gold pieces, which Lottie had 
given her as a parting present. The sight of it brought up 
a vision of her kind friends and a memory of the farewell 
prayer which Mamma Duck had said over her. She broke 
into a dry sob and said, pressing her hands together: 

‘^And my mother did this! My mother! God grant 
she may not be my mother !^^ Then turning to Madeleine: 

Let us go,^^ she said, now, this instant. 

The woman looked at her with a strange mixture or 
rather transition of expressions — admiration,, shame, relief, 

Yes,^^ she whispered, you are innocent. This is no 
place for such as you — only for lost creatures as I am. But 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 147 

I will help to save you. No, doii^t give me any credit for 
it; I deserve none. I care for the man you despise. He 
has a hold on me. Biit for you he might wish me back. 
So I will help you get away; but we must be secret about 
it. He must not know.^^ 

Why, I will walk out before their, eyes. They dare not 
prevent me. How dared they bring me here? Cruel, 
shameless!''^ 

Once more a sob choked her. This time the. tears came. 
She dried them quickly. 

Come on,^^ she said. We will be secret if you think 
best. The house seems quiet. 

She softly turned the handle of the door, but she stood 
as if transfixed. She confronted a mocking face; the mas- 
ter of Aphrodite barred her egress. 

Were you going out, ladies? Shall I have the honor of 
accompanying you?^^ Carleon said, bowing, a smile on his 
handsome mouth, but a green flash in his sea-blue eyes that 
made Madeleine cower. But Kildee gave flash for flash. 

I will not stay in this house a moment longer. Let 
me pass,^^ she said. 

He looked amazed. So lately the shy, yet trusting child, 
now the haughty, commanding woman. But he admired 
her exceedingly; he felt more than ever determined not to 
lose her. 

Be calm, my dear young lady. You shall leave my 
house whenever you wish. You have made it very pleasant 
for me, but I could not think of keeping you against your 
will. I am afraid you are now acting under some false 
idea, perhaps suggested by this woman here. 

He turned away from the bewildered girl and approached 
Madeleine, who had retreated to a little distance. 

I see you are anxious to have your allowance with- 
drawn. Are you also desirous that I should expose you in 
the matter of the stole7i jeioels 

She turned white and lifted her great eyes imploringly. 


148 KILDEE; OR^ the SPHIIs^X of the red house. 

Mercy^ Miles. You would not crush a woman who 
loved you? I did not influence her to this. She wanted to 
go. She does not like you. She — 

Silence/^ he said. Go now and never dare set foot 
on this island again. She gave him a look full of fury 
and flung herself out of the room. He went back to Kil- 
dee, who had again approached the door. One moment/^ 
he said gently. You^ll wait until morning. Believe me, 
no harm is meant you. Have I ever shown you any disre- 
spect? This woman has deceived you for a purpose. I 
was once — engaged to her, but broke with her because she 
proved unworthy. This is her revenge. No; you are in 
no danger under my roof. Remain here to-night; consult 
your inother. If you decide to go away you will be better 
prepared than if you took this hasty flight. 

The calm, soft tones, with their under-chord of grieved 
reproach, the sad, earnest eyes — could it be possible that 
they were false; a part of his skillful mask? Had she 
wronged the man in her thought? No; she recalled that 
look when he drew her to him. She could never forget 
that look. It was one of those sudden revelations that 
burn themselves on the soul. 

I will stay until morning, she said. Please leave 
me now and send Madame — , my mother, to me.’^ 

Carleon bent his head and quitted the room. On the 
landing of the stairs he encountered Mrs. Gonzalis. 

Sophie told me you sent for me,^^ she said, looking at 
his agitated face in wonder. 

I did. I want to say this to you: You lie on your 
lounge in a semi-dream from day to day and neglect my 
interests. 

What have I done?^^ she asked, haughtily. 

Simply nothing; but you were to do something in re- 
turn for my bounty. You were to influence that girl to 
regard me favorably, and she — hates me. 

Hates you? Impossible!’'’ Madame Gonzalis said, but 


kildee; or^ tpie sphixx of the red house. 149 

her eyes had shot one gleam of relief, and Carleon had de- 
tected it. 

You rejoice at it I see. You are treacherous at heart. 
Ifo doubt you had a hand in bringing Madeleine here.'’^ 
Madeleine here? Has Kildee seen her?^^ 

You play your part well. Now listen to me: That 
girl shall not escape me.^'’ 

^^Yow do mean dishonorably by her then; let me tell 
you — 

Silence! I mean honorably by her, if you call a mar- 
riage with me an honorable thing. I have always meant to 
marry her. Would I have taken such pains to please her 
else: I would marry her to-night if I could, but she has a 
will of steel in spite of her childlike softness. Marry me 
she shall, however. Joel Gibson is a magistrate; you are 
her mother, so called; Goff and Sophie are good enough 
witnesses. To-morrow I go for my license. I will marry 
her 'in this house within three days. Go and prepare her 
to receive me as a husband. Tell her the worldly advant- 
ages of the step, the necessity of it. Tell her that you have 
no means to live upon, and that she can do nothing that will 
keep you both from starvation. Tell her I will love her as 
I never before loved a woman. I will plead my own cause 
to her afterward. Exert yourself in my behalf; you shall 
reap the benefit if I succeed. I am anxious to have her 
marry me willingly; but if not by good will, then by 
force. 

His face grew hard as marble as he uttered the last 
words. The candle shook in the woman^s hand. She said 
not a word; she felt that she must obey. The chief point 
was gained. He had said positively that he would marry 
Kildee, and she knew from his eye and the ring of his voice 
that he spoke the truth. She had never seen him so ter- 
ribly in earnest. 


150 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house* 


CHAPTER XX. 

Madame Gonzalis went straight to Kildee^s room. She 
found her sitting by the table, composed and tearless, 
though profoundly sad. She was thinking what she should 
do when she landed in the strange city of Wallportnext 
morning. She determined to leave Aphrodite Island as 
early as she could get away. 

Kildee — Kildee, look at me.'’^ 

She started and faced her fsmdo mother. The look in 
her eyes made Madame Gonzalis involuntarily withdraw the 
hand she had placed on the girPs shoulder and fall back a 
step. 

What do yon want with mer^' asked Kildee coldly, 
know what has happened. That miserable, half- 
crazed woman has frightened you into believing her wild 
wor^s and acjting unkindly, unjustly to our best friend — 
our belief actor. 

‘‘ Benefactor! Do not talk of his benefactions to me. 
Reject them ; leave his house if you wish me to keep a par- 
ticle of respect for you,^^ cried Kildee, starting up with 
blazing cheeks. 

Are you really so unreasonable as to wish to leave the 
only roof that offers us a shelter?^^ 

I would rather shelter myself under the naked sky. 1 
leave this house in the morning, never to enter it again. 

And leave me — your mother — your invalid mother?^'’ 

If you will go with me, I will try to find shelter for us 
both, and I will work to support you. If you refuse to go, 

I must leave you.^^ 

You quite forget that you are not yet your own mis- 
tress. You are not legally old enough to discard parental ^ 
authority. 

‘‘ Nevertheless, I must take my destiny in my own 


KILDEE; ok, the SPHI^sX of the ked house. 151 

hands. I can not trust you — my mother tliongii you may 
be. Oh, that I had a true mother — a good mother — as 
Lottie has.^^ 

The passionate cry made Madame Gonzalis stand silent 
and pale for a moment. Then she came closer to Kildee. 
She seated herself and drew the girl close to her. 

y Listen to me, my child, she said. “ You are mak- 
ing yourself miserable, when you should be happy. You 
misunderstood Mr. Carleon just now. He was on the point 
of offering you a destiny, brighter than even I could have 
hoped for you. Kildee, you can remain here in this beau- 
tiful home as its mistress — as the loved and honored wife 
of Miles Carleon. 

I would not be his ‘wife for a cityful of homes. 

Kildee ^s quiet tones were firm as steel. Mrs. Gonzalis 
felt at once that her decision was final, yet she tried to 
combat it. 

You are mad,^^ she said; you must be. Mr. Carleon 
is rich, accomplished, a gentleman by birth and breeding. 
And he loves you fondly; he will do everything to please 
and gratify you. You will be the envy of every woman in 
AVallport. 

^^And my own scorn. DonT say any more, please. 
Kothing could induce me to marry Mr. Carleon. 

Yet you seemed to admire him greatly only yesterday. 
Is it possible a crazy woman^s story could change your 
feeling sor^^ 

She is not crazy. But it is not first, nor chiefly, what 
the woman said; it was what I saw in his face, and Miat 
he said — just a gleam, just a word or two, but enough. I 
will not marry him, if my life depends on my doing it.'’^ 

Mrs. Gonzalis started up in sudden fury. She saw the 
hopelessness of Carleon ^s cause. She saw herself turned 
from the luxury and indolence of Aphrodite Mansion. 

Obstinate, ungrateful girl!^^ she cried. You shall 
repent this. 1 will show you that you can not set aside my 


152 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

authority so easily. You wish to escape from my charge 
that you may hunt up those strolling players, who are glad to 
be rid of you, and throw yourself in the arms of that young 
vagabond you are in love with. But we will see whose will 
is the stronger. 

She quitted the room without another look at the pale, 
miserable, yet sternly set face of the girl. 

Kildee passed a wakeful night, agitated by painful, de- 
spondent thoughts, but never faltering in her determina- 
tion to leave Aphrodite Island in the morning. She rose 
before sunrise, dressed herself, finished packing her trunk, 
and went down-stairs. Her mother^s door was fast, and 
there was no response to her knock. 

She went to the little building in the yard occupied by 
Goff and his wife. Goff usually went very early to Wall- 
port to attend the morning market; but now she saw him 
standing on the steps of the tiny cottage with nothing in 
his appearance to betoken an intention of starting on his 
trip across the bay. 

Are you not going to Wallport this morning, GoffP^ 
she asked. 

He answered in his usual gruff way that he was not. 

Well, I want you to go that you may take me. Mr. 
Carleon is willing; and here is your pay,^^ holding out 
some silver. 

He looked greedily at the money, but shook his head. 

It^s against your mother^s orders,^^ he said. Oouldn^t 
go if you give me a handful of money. 

must try to row myself across, then,^^ Kildee said. 

I don^t know anything about handling the oars, but some 
boat may come to my help. If not, I can but drown. 

She walked around to the front of the house and down 
the graveled ' walk, not heeding the dewy, fresh opened 
flowers or the flashing fountain. When she reached the 
gate, set in the tall spear-pointed iron fence that encircled 
the grounds, she found it fastened. She remembered that- 


KILDEE; ORy THE SPHIHX OF THE RED HOUSE. 153 

this gate as well as the one in the rear were always kept 
locked. She returned to Goff to procure the key; but 
failed to get it. He declared he had given it to Mrs. Gon- 
zalis, Kildee found she must wait until that lady^s late 
hour for rising. 

She breakfasted alone. Mr. Carleon, Sophie told her, 
iiad had his coffee half an hour ago and had gone out in 
the grounds. Sophie brought word at last that Mrs. Gon- 
zalis was awake; Kildee went to her room. She was sit- 
ting up in bed drinking black coffee from a tiny, old China 
cup. She received Kildee coldly, and, in answer to her 
request for the key, directed her to get it from the pocket 
of a dress, lying across a chair. Kildee failed to find it in 
the pocket. 

Then it has dropped out somewhere, and will have to 
be found. Get them to look for it upstairs and on the ter- 
race, but donH trouble me; my head is ready to burst. 

Kildee looked at her keenly, more than suspecting that 
the loss of the key was a pretense. She could say nothing, 
however; she could only searcli for the key. She looked 
through the two rooms and the hall Mrs. Gonzalis desig- 
nated as the places in which the key might be found, then 
went out on the terrace. She was walking slowly with her 
eyes on the ground, when she came suddenly close to Car- 
leon. He was leaning against a tree looking pale and un- 
happy. A faint smile brightened his eyes as he saw her, 
and he made a movement to approach her. Her cold look 
and slight bow made him pause a second, then he stepped 
before her and said: 

Will you sit here by me on this bench a few minutes? 
I have something to say to you.-^^ 

She hesitated, looking him calmly in the face. She moved 
close to the tree and said : 

I will stand here and listen to you, Mr. Oarleon. 

Her cool, composed manner struck him with surprise. 

Her good blood asserts itself, he said to himself with 


154 kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 

admiration as he looked at the little proud face and firm- 
set lips. More than ever was he resolved to win her. 

He leaned his arm upon an outreaching branch of the 
oak and brought the magic of his blue, sad eyes to bear 
upon her. 

Kildee/^ he said, in his soft, caressing tones, your 
mother told you last night what I wished, what was the 
dearest hope of my heart; and you — well, I will not, I can 
not take what you said then as final. You had just been 
frightened by an impetuous utterance on my part; you had 
just been shocked by hearing a miserable story. The story 
was exaggerated, false; the words that escaped me were the 
expression of a strong, deep love. Child, I love you, as I 
never loved before. I am no saint; I have led a reckless 
sort of life, but I am tired of it. Since I knew you, I have 
felt what sweetness there could be in a pure love, a quiet 
domestic life. Can you not give me that love, that life,. 
Kildee — my little bird — my darling?^^ 

He bent over her, his eyes, his voice full of entreaty. 
Never had Miles Carleon* pleaded so earnestly with a 
woman, never had he watched a woman^s face with such 
intent eagerness as now he watched this little oval face that 
flushed rose-red under his close, passionate eyes, and paled 
again, but never lost its mold of proud reserve. And 
though her voice was low, there was no quiver of weakness 
in it. 

No, Mr. Carleon, I can not marry you — if this is what 
you ask of me."^^ 

Why, Kildee?’" 

I do not love you;* do not respect you.’" 

Her reply stung him with keen pain. He, who had 
thought himself so invincible with women, felt humbled 
and crushed before the frank contempt of this slim, un- 
formed girl. 

This is your return for my kindness,"" he said, white 
with pain and anger. 


KILDEE; OR;, THE SPHIHX OF THE RED HOUSE. 155 

I have asked no favor of you. You have been kind to 
my mother;, and she thanks you; I will do the same for her 
sake, but for myself — I have but one kindness to ask of you 
— it is to help me quit this place. 

I will do no such thing. 

Then I will find a way to leave it without your help.^^ 
She turned from him, slightly bending her head, and 
walked away. He looked after her, uttering a muttered 
curse, then his lip trembled and a spasm of pain swept over 
his face. 

She is the first creature I ever loved,^^ he muttered. 
And to be spurned, baffled by that child! It shall not 
be — I swear it sha^nT! She shall not outdo me. I will 
make her my wife, and after that if she does not love me 
she shall learn to pretend that she does. 

Half an hour later Kildee, coming out on the upper ver- 
anda, saw two men in a boat, crossing the bay. She felt 
sure they were Goff and Carleon. She went down to her 
mother^s room and inquired if the key of the gate had been 
found. 

Yes,^^ her mother answered icily. 

Why did you not let me know?^^ 

I could not see that it was any concern of yours, 
answered Mrs. Gonzalis, without looking up from the book 
she was reading. Then she added: Mr. Carleon has 
taken the key with him. 

Carleon did not return until night. As he entered the 
hall Kildee saw that he was accompanied by a thickset, 
venerable-looking man, with white, flowing beard. 

It is the oily-tongued person whom Mrs. Gonzalis 
brought to prove that she was my mother, thought Kil- 
dee. I would know that too-benignant smile anywhere. 
I wonder what brings him here?^^ 

She vaguely scented treachery, and resolved to be watch- 
ful and prompt. She had seen Goff give the keys of the 
gate and the boat to her mother. She determined that she 


156 ktldee; oe, the sphijsX of the bed house. 

would ask Mrs. Gonzalis to sleep in her room to-night and 
would slip the keys from that lady^s pocket while she was 
asleep, and try to make her escape by moonlight. 

I want no supper/^ she had said to Mrs. Gonzalis; but 
when Sophie brought up a dish of hot cream toast and a 
pot of tea she felt the impulse of appetite, and eat a slice 
of the toast, and drank two cups of the hot, strong tea. 
“ This will keep me awake, she thought. 

Ask my mother if she will not come up and sleep with 
me to-night; I am not well,^’ she said to Sophie. 

She put her hat and shawl where she could get them 
without striking a light. She buttoned a white loose wrap- 
per over the clothes she had worn through the day and lay 
down, as though undressed. 

Presently Mrs. Gonzalis came in and spoke to her. Kil- 
dee answered pleasantly. Her tone deceived the woman. 

She has yielded,^^ she thought. Carleon has brought 
her round. 

She undressed and lay down beside Kildee. 

And so my dear girl has reconsidered, and will act for 
her own and her mother ^s happiness?’^ she said presently, 
and at the same time she put her arm over Kildee. The 
girl did not answer. She restrained the impulse to reply as 
her heart prompted, but she could not bear that embrace. 
She felt herself shuddering at its serpent suggestion. 

Please take your arm off,^^ she said faintly. It makes 
my breathing difficult ^ 

The arm was removed and Mrs. Gonzalis turned ovbr. 
Presently she seemed to be asleep; and Kildee, who felt 
herself growing strangely drowsy, thought she had better 
secure the keys at once. She might not wake again at aii 
opportune time if she allowed this occasion to pass. She 
rose softly, threw off the white wrapper, and began to 
search in Mme. Gonzalis.'^s pocket for the keys that secured 
the gate and the boat. They were not there. She was 
sadly disappointed. She had been sure of finding the keys 


kildee; oe^ the sphinx of the bed house. 157 

and slipping out of the house through one of the windows 
below, the shutter of which was broken. As she lifted her 
vexed face from the vain search she encountered the sharp, 
black eyes of Mme. Gonzalis. The lady sat up in bed, 
watching her with a malicious half smile on her face. 

Mr. Carleon has the keys,""' she said. 

He shall give them to me to-morrow, or I will enter 
complaint against him in court for detaining me here/^ 
Kildee said. 

A twinkle in Mrs. Gonzalis^s eyes seemed to ask, ^ How 
will you get to a court of justice?^^ but she made no re- 
sponse. 

Kildee sat by the window and looked out at the glisten- 
ing, dewy leaves of the tall trees, and at the glimpses of 
misty moonlit sea she could catch between the foliage. But 
the feeling of drowsiness overcame her, and she crept back 
to bed. She lay there crying softly till she fell asleep with 
the tears undried on her lashes. 

Such a deep sleep it was! She did not wake from it 
until the sun was high in the heavens. She started up; 
her head felt dizzy, her eyes swollen. Mme. Gnnzalis was 
not beside her; she had dressed and gone. 

How late it must be!^^ thought Kildee. How did I 
happen to sleep so soundly? Could it be that the tea was 
d rugged 

She almost lost courage at the thought that those about 
her would not hesitate to resort to such means to force her 
obedience to their wishes. 

Oh! it will not do for me to stay here another hour. 

J must contrive to climb over the iron fence in spite of 
the spikes. I will do it this very morning,^^^ was her rapid 
resolve as she sprung frotn bed. 

Her toilet was made in a few minutes; then she went to 
the door to open it. It was fast. The key was no longer 
on the inside. The door had been locked on the outside,, 
and she was a prisoner in her room. 


158 kildee; or, the sphihx oe the red house. 

She stood for a short time reflecting on this new outrage. 
Then she beat upon the door loudly with her hands, calling 
to her mother and to Sophie, but there was no response. 
All was still below stairs. She ran to the window. The 
room was in the rear of the house; trees shut out the view; 
the walls descended sheer to the rock-paved ground, a dis- 
tance of fifty feet at least. 

In moving about the room her attention was attracted to 
a small table covered by a white cloth. She removed the 
cover, and found a neatly arranged breakfast, a trifle cold. 
On the table lay a note, which sne unfolded and read: 

You will remain in this room until you consent to con- 
sult my reasonable wishes and your own best interests. 

^^Your Mother. 

No mother of mine,^^ cried Kildee, trampling the note 
under her little foot. I have felt it always; I know it 
now. No true mother would want her child to marry that 
man. Oh, if I had a good mother — like Lottie ^s! But I 
have not even a friend. There is not one being in the 
world I have any right to apply to even if it were possible 
to send word of my situation here. 

She buried her face in her hands and gave way to tears. 
Only for a moment though; she sprung to her feet and 
threw back the mass of tangled hair, her dark eyes flashed 
resolutely. 

They shall never force me to do this thing,^^ she cried. 

I will stay here a prisoner forever. 

There seemed little prospect of her getting away. She 
was shut up in an isolated house in the center of Aphrodite 
Island — a place junder the ban of respectability, and never 
visited save at the rare times wheivOarleon invited a party 
of friends to be his guest. She was locked up in a room 
at the back of the building, situated in a story above the 
lower floor and the basement. Tall trees, narrowed the 
view from the two windows so that she could not see or be 


kildee; ok, the sphikx of the red house. 159 

seeii by any person who might visit the island or approach 
it in a boat. There was no way to reach the ground from 
the lofty windows. The sheets even had been removed 
from the bed; her trunk keys had been taken away that 
she might not tear her clothing in strips with the hope of 
making a rope long enough and sufficiently stoul to bear 
her w^eight. Even if she should succeed in reaching the 
ground, it would still be impossible for her to leave the 
island. The gates of the grounds were locked, the boats 
were securely fastened. 

Yet she did not despair, and not one thought of yielding 
crossed her mind. 


OHAPTEK XXL 

The wharf at Wallport in the hot afternoon sun is not a 
very invitiug place. Sloops and schooners, a few large 
ships, and a number of steam vessels are anchored in the 
harbor. Xear the landing a steamer is discharging freight, 
another getting ready to back out.-’^ Eoustabouts in red 
shirts are darting to and fro like swarming bees. Boxes, 
bales, and barrels litter the wharf; peanut venders and hot- 
pie men cry their wares. And through the shouting, the 
puffing, the cursing, and the noisy laughter trickle the 
melancholy notes of a violin playing the funeral march in 
the seventeenth movement. 

The performer is totally unconscious of the incongruity 
between his music and his surroundings — unconscious of 
the Jeers of the ragged boys that dance around him and 
watch for an opportunity to seize by its tail the marmoset, 
Zach, that sometimes shyly peeps from the bosom of his 
gray woolen shirt. 

It is St. Peter, Kildee^s protege, the daft orchestra 
of the Ducciole Company. When the troupe got ready to 
leave Rock Spring, after the sorrowful parting with Kildee, 
they missed St. Peter. Inquiries brought to light the fact 


160 kildee; oe, the sphinx of the eed house. 

that he had followed Kildee, had climbed on the platform 
of the train that bore her away, and had been allowed a 
seat in the baggage-car. Arrived at *W allport he hunted 
up Kildee with dog-like instinct of devotion, and was mak- 
ing his way to her side, when she entered a carriage and 
was driven away. He ran after her, keeping the carriage 
in sight, and reached the wharf in time to see her seated 
’>vith Mme. Gonzalis in a boat which a tall, blonde- bearded 
man was pushing from the shore. He strained his eyes 
after the boat until it disappeared in the gathering twilight, 
and then sat down on the sand and played the funeral 
march with tears rolling down his blank, bewildered-look- 
iug face. 

He took up his abode on the wharf. He slept at night 
on a cotton bale; the boat hands and wharf boys gave him 
stale jieanuts and apples and sometimes bread and cheese 
in return for his music. When the tall, yellow-haired Euss 
came from the island for the marketing St. Peter would 
follow him, and on his return to the wharf, where he had 
left his boat locked to the pier, the poor creature would 
beseech Goff by signs and inarticulate entreaties to take 
him in the boat. After being repulsed several times he 
lost heart, and would only w^atch the Russian's departure 
with wistful looks. He made his way to the wharf every 
day, though now he was partly lodged and fed at the Char- 
ity Home. Mayor Heathcliff had taken him there in his 
carriage one day, when, faint with the heat and want of 
food, he had dropped, like a limji bundle, across a cotton 
bale, just as the mayor was stej)ping from his carriage to 
Hieet some arriving friends. 

Dreamily as he played on this sultry afternoon the player 
kept a watchful, wistful eye upon the island boat, as it lay 
softly rocking on the gentle swell near the water^s edge. 

A storm was coming up (the same storm which Heath- 
cliff and Miss Montcalm were watching from her window). 
Presently Go:9 came, hurriedly striding down to the land- 


kildee; or, the sphhstx of the red house. 161 

ing carrying his heavy basket. He did not see St. Peter, 
who got up and followed him, a crowd of boys at his heels. 

Goff unfastened his boat, threw the chain and padlock 
into it with a clang, put his basket in .place, and seating 
himself, with his back to the shore, gathered up the oars 
with a quick movement and an apprehensive look at the 
rising clouds. He did not see St. Peter step in stealthily 
after him and take his seat in the stern of the boat, just as 
the. little craft was pushed off. 

The boys on the shore set up a chorus of shouts and 
laughter. Goff thought they were jeering at him because 
he was foreign, and he would not condescend to turn his 
head. He sat bolt upright and bent his strength to the 
oars. 

He was several hundred yards from the shore before he 
discovered that he was carrying a passenger. He turned 
upon the saint with a wrathful imprecation, but the dull 
eyes met his in child-like appeal. 

For half a minute he hesitated whether to turn around 
and carry St. Peter back to the mainland, and by so doing 
probably get caught in the gale, or whether to brave his 
master’s wrath by taking the man to the island. He had 
received strict orders from Carleon to take no one to Aph- 
rodite, and to let no one come inside the gates, and Goff 
obeyed orders with the unquestoning fidelity of a foreign 
servant, and one who, as a conscript, had had a taste of 
military discipline. 

But another look at the threatening clouds decided him 
to keep on. Carleon would never know. He would put 
the crazy fiddler off upon the island, but would take care 
he should not get inside the gate. With another growd he 
turned to his oars, and did not speak again until he had 
run the boat’s nose upon the sandy beach of the island. 

Then as St. Peter got out and prepared to follow him, 
he shook his fist at him threateningly, commanding him to 

i>tav wdiere he Avas. St. Peter came to a stand-still and 
6 


162 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

stared with a vacuous smile into the frowning face of the 
Russian. Goff proceeded on his way, but when he reached 
the gate there was the daft fiddler pattering along close be- 
hind him. 

He turned about and strode up to the intruder with 
wrathful gestures. Apparently, these had the effect of 
cowing their object, for he sat down on the ground and 
dropped his head upon his arms, which held the beloved 
fiddle in their embrace. Goff looked at him with hesitating 
pity for a second, and then proceeded to unlock the great 
iron gate and push it ajar to admit him and his big wicker 
basket. 

Hardly had he got inside when he felt something shoot 
past him, and turning saw St. Peter running up the walk. 
He started after him, but the fugitive darted out into the 
shrubbery and began dodging and doubling about so act- 
ively as to baffle his clumsy pursuer. 

The rain now began to fall, and Goff determined to carry 
his bundles and baskets into the house, then return to hunt 
up St. Peter. 

But that personage was nowhere to be found. Tired and 
hungry Goff went around to the little peak-roofed cot 
among the trees which was tenanted by him and his wife. 
The rain was now pouring, and the air had grown chill. 

A little fire of pine- wood was crackling merrily on the 
hearth, and beside it sat St. Peter, playing on his fiddle, 
and Goff^s wife listening with delight, while a pot of smok- 
ing coffee, and plates of sliced brown bread and beef on the 
table added to the inviting character of the picture. 

WhaPs the sense of turning him out in the storm, 
said the wife, a poor, brainless one like him? His music 
makes me feel good. It takes me back to the old land.. 
Let’s give him a bite and a shelter to-night, and in the 
morning early you can carry him ashore and the master 
none the wiser.” 

Goff h^d a weakness for the fiddle and a deference for 


kildee; ok,, the sphihx of the red house. 163 

liis vvife^s judgment^, so the daft musician was allowed to 
stay. 

He rose at daybreak next morning and made his way to 
the house. All was silent, and he wandered around the 
building until he came to the great sycamore before the 
window of the room in which Kildee was confined. On the 
grass lay some fruit the girl had thrown out the day before, 
unable to eat it. St. Peter picked up a pear to regale his 
pet upon. While Zach munched his breakfast, his master 
took a seat at the foot of the sycamore with his back to the 
house and began to play. The notes were soft and slow, 
but Kildee, wakeful and unhappy, heard the familiar air. 
A wild hope leaped into her heart. The music sounded like 
St. Peter^s. Could it be he? Were her friends near? She 
sprung from bed and ran to the window. She could see no 
one. Yes, there was Zach, sitting on his haunches chewing 
his pear with zest. 

St. Peter, St. Peter, she called in eager but cautious 
tones. 

He started up from the ivy-muffled base of the tree, 
turned his face toward the house and looked around, then 
up. He saw her; the precious fiddle slid unheeded to the 
ground, and the poor creature, uttering the half-articulate 
cry — between a laugh and a sob, by which he expressed 
emotion, stretched out his arms to Kildee. She too held 
out her arms to him; then she shook her head and ex- 
pressed by signs that she was a prisoner. 

They have shut me up here; I can not get away. 
Tell them to come and free me,^^ she said, but he stared at 
her bewildered ly. It was plain he did not comprehend. 

Then she tried to ask after her former friends. 

Mr. Duck, Lottie, Max — were they here, were they in 
the city? She asked about each one separately, and he 
shook his head, but she could not tell if he meant to reply 
that they were not here, or whether the gesture was merely 
a token of non-comprehension. 


164 kildee; oe, the sphinx of the eed house. 

Yet they must be in Wallport or St. Peter would not 
be here. They may be looking for me. How will I let 
them know?^^ 

She thought a moment, then an inspiration seized her. 
She caught up a peach from the table and held it out of the 
window. 

Zach, Zach/^ she called. 

The marmoset had recognized her before and had ca- 
pered with delight when she spoke to him. As he caught 
sight of the red-and-yellow peach, he flung away the core 
of the pear and began to clamber up the ivied wall of the 
building. He climbed rapidly; in a little while he was 
in reach of her arm, and she seized the furry creature, 
drew him inside, and hugged him in her delight. He re- 
turned her caress, for he had loved her next to his master; 
but presently he held out his tiny paw for the peach. While 
he devoured it, Kildee carried out her idea. She had no 
scrap of paper in the room. Her little writing-desk, her 
books, pens and pencils had all been taken out the night 
before or in the morning while she still slept so heavily. 
But she had found a morsel of pencil in the grate, and 
wjth this she proceeded to write on the smooth, polished 
surface of a clean cuff, one of the pair she had laid out to 
put on that night she expected to make her escape from 
the island: 

To THE Mayor of Wallport, — I pray you to come 
to my aid. I am a girl of innocent life, forcibly conflned 
in a locked room on Aphrodite Island. Come and free me, 
and I will thank you on my knees. 

Kildee. 

She did not know who the Mayor of Wallport was, but 
she was sure there must be some such official who might 
have power to protect her. She knew no one to apply to. 
She had seen Hazard Hall but a few minutes at Eock 
Springs, and had not understood even that he lived at Wall- 
port. 


kildee; oe^ the SFumx of the red house. 165 

She fastened the cuff securely around the marmoset^s 
neck while he munched liis peach. Suddenly he dropped 
it and grew fidgety. He had heard his master^s whistle 
and understood the summons. Kildee gave him a parting 
squeeze and put him out of the window. She watched 
him anxiously as he scrambled down^ and drew a breath of 
relief when she saw him leap into St. Peter’s arms, for she 
had seen Goff approaching through the trees. 

He came up to St. Peter and laid his arm roughly on his 
shoulder. 

Come along/’ he said gruffly. You git away quick; 
you not want you head broke. Te master be up soon.” 

St. Peter tried to resist, but the Eussian’s stern way of 
speaking appealed to his habit of obedience, and he suffered 
himself to be pushed along, hugging his fiddle and with 
Zach safe in his usual refuge — the bosom of the saint’s 
flannel shirt. 

Shortly afterward Kildee heard the sound of oars; Goff 
was taking St. Peter back to the main shore. A deserted, 
lonely feeling overcame the girl for a moment, as she list- 
ened to the monotonous rhythm of the oars. Then hopf^ 
revived. Her message was safe around Zach’s neck. If 
Max and her other friends were not in Wallport, still there 
was a probability that some one would see the cuff around 
the marmoset’s neck, have the curiosity to examine it, and 
take her message to the mayor. 

God grant it!” prayed the girl, worn out with anxiety, 
confinement, and solitude. 

No one but Sophie had entered the room since it was 
first locked upon her, and Sophie had refused to open her 
lips in answer to any question. She came in twice a day 
with a tray of food. The first time the door opened — ^just 
widely enough to admit her — Kildee had quickly pushed 
her aside and flung herself into the opening, only to be 
caught in the iron grip of Goff, who stood guard at the 
door, and thrust back into the room. 


166 kildef; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

Both the Russian and his wife believed Kildee to be a 
wayward, disobedient girl, who had once before run away 
from her mother and was bent on doing so again. 


CHAPTER XXIl. 

The morning wore on, and no Max came to the rescue, 
no Paj^a Duck, no mayor armed with authority to free her 
from her prison and protect her from 2^seiido mother. 

An hour or so later she again heard the sound ^of oars. 
Her heart beat wildly. Could it be her friends coming to 
her relief? It was only Goif returning, after having landed 
St. Peter on the wharf at Wallport. 

There was nothing in the bare, stripped room to divert 
the girl — not a picture, not a book, not a piece of work. 
She had only to sit and brood over the situation in which 
the treachery of others had involved her. She walked the 
floor until she was ready to drop with weariness. There 
was a sound at the door; she heard the key turning, and 
stood still with throbbing pulses. The door opened. So- 
phie ^s broad, stolid face appeared behind a tray of luncheon, 
and behind her loomed up the tall, stout figure of Goff. 
Kildee turned sick with disgust and disappointment. She 
signed for the woman to put down the tray and leave her. 
Sophie pointed to a note lying on the tray and said : 

I was to wait for an answer. 

Kildee tore the note open and read: 

I know your situation, and, as a friend to you and a 
servant of the Divine Master, I ask an interview with you. 
I may be able to do you some good. 

Joel Gibson. 

Tell him I will see him at once,^^ said Kildee, wonder- 
ing why she had not before thought of this man, and of tlie 
probability that he was under the same roof with her. She 
had seen him enter the house with Carleon that same night 


kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 167 

• 

whose ending had found her a prisoner, but she supposed 
he had left next morning long before she woke from her 
unnatural sleep. She had not liked his face or his voice 
when he came with Mrs. Gonzalis in the character of her 
referee at Eock Spring. And yet she could not have told 
why. His face was benignant, fatherly, his voice sweet 
and persuasive, his appearance and manner eminently pa- 
triarchal. • 

He can not be a bad man. I feel safer now I know 
that he is here,^^ she said to herself as she waited impatient- 
ly for his entrance. 

He came at length. The very sight of his silvery flow- 
ing beard and kind smile disarmed her of her faint, linger- 
ing suspicion. 

You have not eaten your luncheon; shall we partake 
together?^ ^ he said, at the same time laying on her plate a 
freshly gathered white lily. She inhaled its delicate per- 
fume gratefully. It brought a message of comfort, and 
she took her seat opposite her venerable-looking visitor with 
a smile on her lips and a color in her cheeks that had been 
so wan a little while before.' He bent his patriarchal beard 
till it touched the plate and murmured a blessing; then ho 
helped Kildee to cold chicken and claret, and talked pleas- 
antly of matters and things in the outside world, while he 
discussed the luncheon with zest, and yet with good breed- 
ing. The Eeverend Joel Gibson was a person of tact and 
good breeding. Had he not been born without the moral 
sense, he would have been a gentleman. He had good im- 
pulses occasionally, but they were like the legless birds of 
the Arabian fable; they never alighted. Sometimes when 
he had taken an extra mint-julip he would grow melan- 
choly and repentant, would curse Carleon and his own in- 
dolent, self-indulgent nature that made him this man^s 
tool; but his repentance always stopped short of amend- 
ment. And it is not to be denied that he took a positive 
pleasure in humbugging his kind and in getting off upon 


IGS kildee; oe, the sphixx of the heh hoese. 

0 

them any little job of intricate knavery, the lock of which 
defied picking. 

He had entered zestfully into the job he had now in 
hand; it was nice/'’ it required skillful handling, and it 
turned upon a gift which he was secretly proud to possess, 
but never dared boast of or display, except in the slight 
degree which is called magnetism. This gift was the fac- 
ulty of mesmefizing. 

After the repast, the patriarchal Joel patted Kildee 
brown head, saying, Go and put your flower in some 
water, my child, and with his own white, plump hands 
he piled the dishes in the tray and spread the white towel 
over it. Then he drew two chairs near the window and sat 
in one of them, desiring Kildee to take the other. 

Kow, my daughter, he said, tell me all about this 
trouble — your side of the story, I mean. I have heard your 
mo therms. I am an old friend of hers — knew her long be- 
fore she was as old as you — knew you as a baby in her 
arms.^^ 

Then she is my mother?^^ Kildee said, and the pained, 
disappointed tone of her voice could not be mistaken. 

Certainly she is your mother, and a very good mother 
she was, but poverty and trials and ill-health have made 
her a little hard and selfish, I am afraid. It is not to be 
wondered at, and you must not be too hard upon her be- 
cause of it. She is influenced now more by the belief that 
she is acting for your good than by any desire tobeneflt her- 
self. But never mind; I am hereto listen to you flrst; 
afterward, with your permission, I will talk a little. Begin 
and tell me something of your life. Who is this Max who 
your mother imagines stands in the way of your accept- 
ance of the rich and accomplished gentleman who seems to 
love you so dearly?^’ 

Kildee began the story of her life, telling it as simply and 
briefly as she knew how. The venerable magistrate (Car- 
leon^s money had helped him to get the office, sat just op- 


kildee; or^ the sPHmx of the red house. 169 

posito her; his deep-set, green-gray eyes fixed themselves 
upon her face; he gave little sighs of sympathy as she pro- 
ceeded; presently his hand clasped one of hers and his face 
gradually drew nearer hers; his eyes seemed to her to dilate 
and grow luminous yet misty. He uttered little tender 
sympathetic comments now and then, and his right hand 
moved slowly, as though he were unconsciously brushing 
away a disturbing fiy. Kildee found herself rambling 
strangely in her story, growing disconnected, and losing 
the thread, to pick it up with an effort that grew more diffi- 
cult each time to make. In vain she struggled against the 
feeling; her senses, her will seemed floating away from her; 
she caught at them again and again, but the attempt to ar- 
rest them was futile. Her own voice grew dreamy to her 
ears; the face opposite hers swam in a mist; she could only 
see two large softly shining eyes that expanded and ex- 
panded till they seemed to drown her in their luminous sea. 
At length her voice died to a murmur, her white lids were 
half drooped and tremulous like lily buds on gentle undu- 
lating water. 

Joel Gibson smiled and made a few more passes with his 
white, fat hand. Her lips ceased to move, her lids to 
tremble. A few more passes yet. She sat upright, mo- 
tionless — a beautiful statue of marble. 

“ Kildee, go and bring me yonder lily,^^ he said under 
his breath. 

She rose, walked straight to the table, took the flower he 
had given her from the glass and brought it to him. 

Now sit still, he said yet lower. She seated herself 
in the chair, and he left the room, returning in a few mo- 
ments with Mme. Gonzalis. 

There,^^ he said, smiling, pointing to Kildee; ^^you 
can prepare her for her wedding, if there is any adornment 
needed. You had better arrange her hair and put this 
flower in her curls; she will look more bride-like in the eyes 
of your two Russian witnesses. She will do anything I tell 


170 kildee; oe, the sphihx of the eed house. 

her to do. She is passive in my hands. I control her 
through the magnetic spell/^ he went on, seeing Mrs. 
Gonzalis stand before the white, still girl, with a look of 
awo and remorse on her face. 

Oh, she looks death-like; lean not bear to touch her!^^ 
cried the woman. 

Death-like! Not a bit. See her light up now. Kil- 
dee, smile, he said, and the sweet, still lips of the statue 
parted radiantly. 

Mme. Gonzalis began softly to smooth her curls, and 
fastened them back with the white flower. Then she fast- 
ened some fine, soft lace around her throat, with a pretty 
pin she took from her own collar. As she made, in this 
simple manner, the .toilet of the unconscious bride, the tears 
dropped on her sallow cheeks. When she had finished, she 
put back a rebellious curl with a tender, lingering touch, 
and kissed the white forehead it had shaded. 

Forgive me, sweet child — God in heaven forgive me!^^ 
she murmured. 

Then she turned to Gibson, who stood looking compla- 
cently at Kildee, his hands clasped on his capacious stom- 
ach. 

Will her eyes remain closed as they are now?^^ she 
asked. 

No, she will open them when I will her to,4hough 
they will have no speculation. She will speak, too, when 
I will her to speak. Have you never before seen a person 
mesmerized 

‘^yes,^^Mnm. Gonzalis said, briefly. But it seems 
dreadful for one to be married while in this blind, uncon- 
scious state. ■ 

Women are usually blind when they marry, said the 
Eev. Joel, smiling, rubbing his white hands gently together. 

Blind with love, or .vanity, or greed of money and fine 
clothes. It is as well to be blind with one thing as an- 
other, is the little one ready? 


kildee; or^ the sphi^s^x of the red house. 171 

Yes/^ said the woman, turning her eyes with difficulty 
from the painful fascination of the girFs white, sweet face.. 

Call Oarleon then. The bride is no doubt impatient. 
And let the parlor be darkened, and the candles lighted,, 
and the witnesses in places. I like to do things in style./ ^ 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Mrs. Gonzalis re-entered the room alone. 

Carleon is in the drawing-room,^^ she said. He is 
striding up and down like one possessed. I spoke to him 
but he did not seem to heed me.^^ 

^^He has one of his absent-minded fits,^^ said Gibson,. 

Well, we canT. wait on his moods. I want to have this 
thing over. I confess I feel a little nervous. So, we will 
go down to him, Madame Gonzalis. Kildee, we’ will go 
down. 

He put her hand beneath his arm and they went down- 
stairs, followed by Mrs. Gonzalis. The blinds of the long 
drawing-room had been closed, the heavy curtains dropped 
and the candles lighted. Enough daylight struggled 
through and mixed with the artificial illumination to pro- 
duce a weird effect. The pictures, the statues bore the 
semblance of ghastly life. Goff and his wife in their Sun- 
day attire sat bolt-upright against the wall. Their faces 
wore a puzzled, half-frightened expression. 

The master of Aphrodite looked like anything but a 
bridegroom. Habitually faultless in his dress, his neck- 
tie was now awry, his hair disordered as though he had 
thrust his fingers wildly through it in his rapid walk about 
the room. A battle was going on in the nian^s soul; the 
dull, lurid glow in his eye betrayed it. 

Joel Gibson looked at him doubtfully: so might a jackal 
eye his tiger comrade in a cage, uncertain what might be 
the stronger animaPs mood. But he said cheerfully, ex- 


172 kildee; or, the sphhstx of the red house. 

ultiiig in his having made good his word to render Kildee 
passive to his will: 

Mr. Oarleon, your bride waits for you.-’^ 

The master of Aphrodite wheeled and saw the white, 
statuesque girl. His own face grew as pale; he did not 
offer to approach her. Gibson waited a minute, then he 
said under his breath to Kildee: 

Open your eyes and go to Mr. Carleon.^ 

She hesitated; a rij^ple as of troubled feeling passed over 
her face; her eyelids twitched, but did not unclose. Gibson 
fastened his green eyes upon her and passed his hand be- 
fore her brow once and again; then, in a yet lower tone, 
he repeated his command. Her eyes opened wide, but it 
was plain they were unseeing; their look was fixed and va- 
cant. She moved slowly from his side and approached 
Carleon. Though her will was paralyzed by the magnetic 
influence, yet she seemed dimly conscious of what was hap- 
pening to her, and feebly struggling to assert herself, as 
one does in a nightmare, a trance, or in a state of somnam- 
bulism. 

Carleon stood looking at her like one under a spell. He 
did ’not move nor utter a word. The vague pathetic appeal 
of that unconscious face, with its fixed visionless gaze and 
troubled brow, gave point to the sword of remorse which 
was in his heart. On the other hand never had the beauty 
and sweet grace of the girl moved him so strongly. 

Warred upon by two opposite emotions he stood still, his 
breath coming heavily, his eyes riveted on Kildee. Gibson 
walked to the window and peered through the blinds. He 
was fearful of being interrupted. The part he was playing 
was rather risky, and Joel Gibson, Esq., had his re- 
spectable reputation to sustain. He became impatient; he 
walked back to the table, took up a book containing the 
marriage formula, and looked across at Kildee. 

Give Mr. Carleon your hand,^^ he said. 

A shiver passed over her; slowly, reluctantly, she 


kildee; oe, the sphinx of the eed house. 173 

stretched out her hand. Oarleon started when her cold 
little fingers touched his, then he grasped her hand — sud- 
denly, with a fierce compression of his lips. 

Gibson drew a breath of relief. 

We will proceed, he said. The ceremony will be 
brief. Here I hold in my hand the customary permit of 
the court, which authorizes me to unite Miles Carleon and 
Jasmina Gonzalis in marriage. Miles Carleon, will you 
take this lady, Jasmina Gonzalis, to be your wedded wife? 
Will your^* 

'‘iso.” 

The monosyllable burst from him as though it were 
forced out by some powerful exertion of his will. He 
dropped the hand of the girl and folded his arms across his 
chest. 

Joel Gibson let fall the book he held and stared at his 
patron in dumb amazement. A hysterical cry from Mrs. 
Gonzalis broke the silence. 

What the dingnation does this mean?^^ demanded Gib- 
son, forgetting his patriarchal dignity. ^ 

It means that this foul business is at an end. For this 
minute, at least, l\e got the upper hand of the devil that 
possesses me, and 1^11 make use of the mastery. Take your 
spell off the girl. 

^‘But,^^ remonstrated Gibson in an undertone, with a 
warning glance at the witnesses, it^s all working right; 
the girl will answer as I will ter to, and her mother, and 
the witnesses here — 

Not a w^ord. I have my loot on the fiend now, and if 
you tempt me, you hypocritical cur, 1^11 strike you to the 
earth. Take your wicked spell off the girl this instant. 

Gibson advanced hurriedly, and made a few passes with 
a trembling hand. 

I can^t,^^ he whimpered, Fm all unnerved. I^ve 
lost control over myself. 

Carleon stepped to a side-table, caught up a decanter of 


174 kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 

brandy, poured out a glassful, and brought it to his fright- 
ened factotum. 

Drink it down, and get control of yourself quick, or 
^ twill be the worse for you,^^ he said. 

Gibson gulped down the fiery liquor, and walked to the 
mantel-piece, followed by Oarleon^s blood-shot eyes. After 
a moment or two he turned round and again approached 
Kildee. This time his efforts to remove the mesmeric in- 
fluence proved successful. Her face changed from its 
death -like pallor, her lids closed, then flashed wide open* 
There was consciousness in her e^’es. 

Her quick, startled look took in the scene; the lighted 
room, the two servants in their holiday clothes, Joel Gibson 
behind the table with its open book, and Carleon standing 
at her side. Her dim, dreamy consciousness of what had 
been happening received its confirmation. Horror over- 
spread her face; she turned to Gibson: 

^‘Aml married to that man?^^ she cried, pointing to 
Oarleon. 

The anguish in her voice pierced Carleon to the heart. 
He did not wait for ^lie magistrate to reply. 

No,^^ he said, you are not married to me. The sac- 
rifice was not permitted. Yom own innocence saved you. 
Yon are free — free to leave this place when you wilL'’^ 

I will go now,^^ she said. 

Here is the key to the gate. Goff, you will row Miss 
Gonzalis to Wallport and get her a carriage. Bring down 
her luggage, you and Sophie, and take it to the boat. 

Then, as the servants obeyed, he turned to Gibson and 
Mrs. Gonzalis: 

You will leave the room,’^ he said, I wish to speak to 
her alone before she goes. 

Stay,’^ cried Kildee, detaining Mrs. Gonzalis, Mr. 
Oarleon can have nothing to say to me that you must not 
hear. 

But I have,^’ he exclaimed roughly. Go,^^ address- 


kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 175 

ing Mrs. Gonzalis with imperativ^e gesture, I will humble 
myself in the sight of but one woman on earth. Then 
turning to Kildee, You need not fear me,^'’ he said, I 
would not touch you for the whole of Aphrodite Island. 

He closed the door upon Madame Gonzalis. He walked 
the length of the room twice and stopped in front of Kil- 
dee. He was lividly pale; his arms were pressed upon his 
chest as though to keep in some struggling emotion. 

Child,^^ he said, I have done you a foul wrong. I 
tore you away from your friends by a villainous scheme; I 
brought you to this polluted place; I put you in daily as- 
sociation with a monster — a moral Caliban — myself. By a 
trick as black as Hades I would have bound your pure life 
fast to mine, only something, some power I can not under- 
stand, interposed. After all, there mtis^ be a God^ — for 
creatures like you. I have stamped a nightmare memory 
upon your young soul that you can never shake off. • I 
have, it is likely, put a lasting stain upon your fair name, 
for but to set foot on this cursed island is to have the 
sleuth-hound of scandal at your heels forever thereafter. 
I deserve the hangman ^s rope; I deserve to have you send 
a bullet through my heart, and I beg you will do it. Take 
this revolver and kill me as you would a mad dog that had 
bitten you.-’^ 

She looked at the weapon he thrust into her hand and laid 
it on the table before her. She was pale as she listened to 
his vild words, but she looked calmly, sadly, into his burn- 
ing eyes. 

You are not fit to die,^^ she said. 

Am 1 fit to live.^ Can I endure to live after this? I 
swear to you I never realized what I was until I saw that 
look of horror and loathing in your eyes. I never knew a 
good woman intimately in my life before. I have never 
known a mother or a sister. The uncle who raised me — 
brilliant, gifted being that he was — had had every drop of 
the milk of humanity in his nature turned into gall by dis- 


176 kildee; ok^ the sphihx of the bed house. 

appointment and wrong. He had been rich; he lost his 
fortune, his friends forsook him; the wife he idolized de- 
serted him, thenceforth he became a bitter hater of his 
kind— a modern Timon. He recovered his fortune; he 
used the money for his own gratification; he adopted me 
chiefly, I think, to perpetuate through me liis revenge on 
mankind. ^ Make them serve your interests or your pleas- 
ure, but despise them, for they are either false or weak "" — 
this was his teaching. He had no faith in the honor of 
man or the virtue of woman. Such was my training; I 
have followed it out. Money bought me pleasures, flatter- 
ies. I cared for no more. To fill up the passing hour was all 
my aim. I have felt weariness, satiety, disgust, but never, 
I swear, such bitter self-humiliation as when I saw what an 
object of horror I was in your eyes — in the eyes of the one 
creature I have loved, the fair, sweet being I would give 
my life to make love me. I never felt how black I was un- 
til I came in contact with your whiteness. Now I realize 
— everything. There is a hell burning here in my breast 
that all the waters of yonder ocean can not quench. Live 
after this? Never; it is simply impossible. I will make 
a will this night after you have left me, and leave all my 
money to you, to do with as you please, then a bit of cold 
lead rids the world of one who never did it any good : and 
not a tear will be shed over his dead body. The parasites 
who have fed upon me have cared only for my bounty; in 
their hearts they have despised me.^^ 

I do not want your money, Kildee said, and it is 
cowardly to talk of taking your life. Live to retrieve the 
past. Live to wipe out the evil you have done with good. 
You say you have used your money for selfish gratification, 
use it now for a noble purpose — use it to make others better 
and happier. 

It is too late.^^ 

It is not too late. God is still above us; evil and 
suffering are still upon the earth; strength and talent are 


kildee; ok^ the sphihx of the bed house. 177 

still yours. Use your gold and your good gifts to put down 
sin and to alleviate pain and poverty. 

Girl, don^t preach to me: I despise cant. I don^t 
acknowledge your God. I hold that piety is either ignor- 
ance or hypocrisy, that repentance is weakness. I am not 
repentant. I don^t love goodness, I love you. I don^t 
hate sin; I simply loathe myself because you loathe me — 
because I saw myself in the mirror of your eyes.'’^ 

It is God^s work,^'’ said the girl. He held up the 
mirror. It is repentance and you do not know it. You 
will turn from your old self with disgust; you will aspire to 
a better self. 

He broke into a short, hard laugh. 

Do you know you are talking that stuff to a man with 
no more capacity in him for good than a burned out volcano 
to grow roses? Why, this very instant as I look at you 
with that tearful light shining in your sweet eyes and that 
young bosom heaving with emotion, I am tempted to call 
back my accomplice and make him finish his work — bind 
yoxi to me by force as ihy wife — my slave. 

But you will not do it, she said, meeting his look 
with fearless, upraised eyes. You will not do it. I am 
no longer afraid of you. Your better angel has spoken to 
you; you have stopped short; you have taken a step in the 
better way, you will not turn back. No, I am not afraid 
of you nowJ^ 

How sweet and steady her voice was; what a light was 
in her eyes, shining through her tears! The strong man 
was moved; his lips trembled, his fierce, hot eyes grew 
soft. With a self-scornful gesture, he threw back his 
head : 

I^^ll not whine, he said. I did not ask this interview 
for the purpose of playing on your sympathies — exciting 
your pity. I had another purpose in view. It was to tell 
you that I desire to do all in my power to make amends for 
the wrong I have done you. All the gold in the world 


178 kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 

would not mend that wrong, but let it go as far as it will. 
You are going away — out into a world that is strange to 
you. You do not know how cold and hard it is; you will 
need money, and money, thank Fate, I can give you.'’^ 

He stepped to the inlaid escritoire, unlocked a drawer 
and took from it a large roll of bills and a long purse filled 
with gold. 

This is for the present only,^^ he said, as he laid the 
money on her knee. 

She looked at it, and then at him, and softly shook her 
head. She gathered up the purse and the bills, took them 
to the escritoire and laid them in their former place. 

I will not take them,^^ she said. I will not touch a 
dollar of your money, Mr. Carleon.^^ 

Kildee, are you in earnest?^^ 

I am indeed. I will take no money from you. 

He almost staggered to the mantel-piece; he clung to it 
and looked at her with agonized eyes. 

Child, he said huskily; for God^s sake be merciful. 
DonT refuse me this one droj) of consolation. DonT let 
me have to tliink of you as going out into the world penni- 
less, friendless because of me. I can offer you no repara- 
tion but money; donT reject it. You will indeed drive me 
to self-destruction. 

Kildee grew very pale. 

Oh,' Mr. Carleon,^^ she cried, ‘‘I would take the 
money if I could do it and not feel it was wrong. I can 
not take it.^^ 

Then how can I ever make amends to you?^^ 

You can do as I begged you just now. You can let 
me think that I have helped to change you. You can put 
your old life under foot and reach up to a nobler one— a 
life active and useful. Then your breast will no longer be 
filled with a burning pain. The burned out volcano will 
grow roses of hope and peace. ^ 

In her earnestness of entreaty she had stretched out her 


kildee; ok^ the sphihx of the ked house. 179 

hands toward him; he caught them and crushed them 
against his breast. 

Will you love me if I do this?^^ he exclaimed; but he 
saw the quick change in her face; it recalled him to him- 
self. He dropped her hands, and bent his head in abase- 
ment. 

^^Foi’give me/^ he said, pain and humiliation in his 
tones; I meant, will you despise me less?^^ 

^^Ah! do not talk of my love or hate. I am only an 
ignorant, simple girl. You have talents, and education, 
and money; these, put to a noble use, would win you the 
esteem of the world, the love and gratitude of thousands of 
human beings.’’^ 

Before he could speak the door was thrown open; Mrs. 
Gonzalis entered hurriedly: 

There are three men at the gate waiting to be admit- 
ted,^ ^ she said; what must be done?^^ 

Tell Goff to let them in.^^ 

Is it best to do this?^^ she remonstrated. Goff says 
they seem to be persons in authority. Perhaps they have 
come to — 

No matter what they have come for; let them in at 
once,^^ he said turning to Goff, who appeared at the door. 

Would to Heaven I had never come to this house,^'’ she 
said hysterically. I feel a presentiment that fate will 
overtake me here.""^ 

Kildee went up to her. 

If you are my mother,^ ^ she said, looking earnestly 
into her face, I want you to go with me and live with 
me wherever I may find a place for us to live. I — 

She is not your mother, interrupted Carleon. 
“ That was another of my sins. I had her claim you and 
bring you here. 

But she is the person who had charge of me when I 
was a child, and left me — I remember her well.*^^ 

‘‘ Yet she is not your mother. Your father is — 


180 kildee; or^, the sphie^x of the red house. 

Husli!^^ cried Madame Gonzalis, sharply. I told you 
that wild story to deceive you. You have no proof of it. 
I deny it. 

Her face is proof enough. She is the image of — 

Will you not be silent?^^ cried the woman. Do you 
not understand • 

She made a swift step toward him and seized his arm 
with her slender fingers. Do you want to destroy mer"^ 
she said under her breath. If he is told that she is his 
child do you not know he will demand proofs? He will 
question me, search into my history; part of it is known to 
him already, only he thinks me dead. He would at once 
suspect; he would never rest until all was known, and I 
was brought to — 

What?^^ 

The gallows!^^ she said in an intense whisper. You 
suspected it before. 

His look of horror told that his suspicion hitherto had 
not been strong. 

Goff threw open the door. Mayor Heathcliff, Sheriff 
Tatem, Deputy-sheriff Lynn,^^ he announced. 

Madame Gonzalis uttered a stifled scream and darted to 
the door. On the threshold she came face to face with Ira 
Heathcliff. Sudden recognition flashed into his eyes. 

Zulimee! You here?’^ he said. 

She did not answer him. She made one deprecating 
gesture and fled past him. She ran to her room and 
threw herself on her bed, burying her face in her hands. 

That 7^6 should see me here!^^ she said with a spas- 
modic sob. 

She rose and began hurriedly to collect her most valuable 
possessions and pack them in a portmanteau with a few 
articles of clothing. ^^I must get away from this place; 
away from this city,^^ she muttered to herself. What 
evil spirit possessed me to come herer^^ 

She caught up the portmanteau, though it seemed too 


KILDEE; OR;, THE SPHIKX OF THE RED HOUSE, 181 

heavy for her slender arm, and left the room, the mansion, 
making her way to the boat-house. There she unfastened 
a small, light boat, and got into it. Taking the oars in her 
own hands, she pushed off from the island, looking back 
fearfully, and breathing more freely when she saw no one. 
Handling the oars with a skill acquired in her early life in 
Mexico, she was soon at a distance from the island.. It was 
her object to reach the city in time to take the first night 
train going out in any direction, it little mattered where. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Carleoi^’ advanced and received his visitors with stately 
courtesy. 

This is an unexpected honor, gentlemen, he said, 
with that mocking shade in his voice and in the expression 
of his handsome mouth. 

It is not a visit of pleasure or of friendship, Mr. Car- 
leon,^^ returned the mayor. 

1 presumed as much. I am waiting to hear you an- 
nounce the business you have with me.'^^ 

It is this, Mr. Oarleon: I have received an intimation 
that a young girl was forcibly detained in this house — con- 
fined in one of the rooms. Is this true?^^ 

It is quite true. Thjs is the young lady. She has been 
detained here against her will. She has been forcibly shut 
up in a room on the upper fioor. 

And you confess to this lawless, this disgraceful act?^’ 

I will give you further particulars. The young girl is 
as pure as she is lovely. I wanted to marry her. I induced 
a woman she thought to be her mother to bring her here. 
The girl had never seen me, knew nothing of my charac- 
ter. I came here a few days ago. I tried to win her love 
and consent to marry me. I failed, and not to be balked 
of my purpose, I resorted to stratagem. I procured a 


182 - kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 

marriage license and a magistrate. Half an hour ago 
Miss Gonzalis was on the point of marrying me while un- 
conscious, through the influence of mesmerism. That she 
did not, is due to — circumstances which need not be de- 
tailed.'’^ 

Outwardly Oarleon was coolly indifferent, almost flip- 
pant. Ira Heathcliff eyed him sternly. 

You surely know,^'’ he said, that you have laid your- 
self open to arrest and punishment at the hands of the law 
for this outrage. 

I think it probable. 

It is so probable that it will soon be an accomplished 
fact. I came provided with a warrant for your arrest. 
You have long defied the law, and escaped justice through 
chicanery and bribes. 

It is a weak law than can be tricked; it is a poor law 
that can be bribed. But you will not find the matter of 
arrest so easy. Mayor Heathcliff*. No man and no three 
men sliall take me alive. I will defend my freedom with 
my life.-’^ 

As he spoke he took the revolver — a French hair-trigger 
—from the table and stepped backward a pace until his 
back was against the wall. 

It will be better for you to submit peaceably. When 
this young lady prosecutes you for — 

I will not prosecute Mr. Oarleon,'’'’ Kildee said. And 
I hope you will not arrest him; he repents of what he has 
done; he wished to make amends; he is going to assist me 
to get away from here. It was of his own will that the 
marriage ceremony was stopped, through his own better 
feelings. 

He does not look very repentant, commented Heath- 
clilf, eying the half-mocking, half -defiant face of the master 
of Aphrodite. 

But he is repentant, Kildee said. I have seen into 
his heart. I believe he will never act so wickedly again. I 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 183 

believe there will be a change in his life. Do not hinder it, 
Mayor Heathcliff. Let him go free; I will not prosecute 
him. 

Heathcliff gave her a searching look. 

You are willing then to stay here — to he his wifer^^ 

Oh, no, no! I ask you to take me with you to the 
city. I was going alone when you came. 

Well,^^ the mayor said, after a pause, it shall be as 
you say. I will not serve the warrant upon Mr. Carleon, 
though he has by his own confession been guilty of vio- 
lence and fraud. But the magistrate who was your accom- 
plice, Mr. Carleon — 

You will not find him. And there is nothing to show 
that he knew the young lady was not conscious when he 
attempted to perform the ceremony. 

It is a strange affair — a dark affair, said Heathcliff. 

I do not feel that it is right to let it rest, but for this 
young girDs sake it is perhaps better it should not be made 
public. My child, he went on, looking down at Kildee — 

forgive me for calling you so; but you seem so young — 
in your appeal to me you signed only the queer little name, 
^ Kildee.^ 

‘Mt i^ all the name I have a right to — so far as I know. 
I do not know who my parents were. Call me Kildee, 
please. 

Kildee, shall we go?^^ 

Yes, sir; I am ready. 

She put on the hat Sophie had brought down when Goff 
had carried her luggage to the boat. 

The master of Aphrodite did not stir from his 2)Osition 
beside the table on which he had laid the revolver. He 
stood, resting his hand lightly on the table, his attitude 
easy and self-assured. He bent his head in acknowledg- 
ment of the mayor^s cold good-evening,^^ the shadow of 
a disdainful smile touching his handsome mouth. 

Heathcliff and his two officials passed out; Kildee stayed 


184 kildee; or, the sphii^x of the red house. 


behind an instant. She looked hesitatingly at Carleon; 
her face flushed and paled. She spoke at length, a thread 
of tremor running through her voice: 

Good-bye, Mr. Carleon. I — I shall pray for you. 

The haughty composure of his face broke up at once. 

Spare your prayers, he said. They are useless. 
The two things I crave can never be mine— peace and — 
your love. But— Kildee — can you say that you forgive 
me?^^ 

I can, I do. May Heaven forgive you and send you 
peace. 

Her lips trembled, but she did not touch his hand that he 
had stretched toward her. She waved her own little hand 
in token of farewell, and quitted the room. 

He dropped into a seat and buried his face in his hands. 
Presently he heard the sound of oars. He raised his head, 
listened and went to the window. Throwing open the 
blind, he saw in the red, slanting light of the low sun, the 
boat containing his late visitors standing out from the island 
beach. He saw Kildee ^s pretty figure seated in the stern; 
the little gray hat he had two days ago thought such a per- 
fect shade to the delicate, merry, yet earnest, soulful face. 
His mouth worked with strong emotion. 

Lost! lost to me forever/^ he groaned. ‘'I might 
have made her love me if I had been a man. But the 
brute crept out. She pities me, but she would not touch 
my hand. I am loathsome to her. No wonder; I am 
loathsome to myself. 

He started up, he dashed his clinched fist against his 
forehead. 

^‘Fool! Dotard he exclaimed, “to let myself be so 
unmanned. And for what? Because an ignorant, puri- 
tanic girl chooses to think me a creature to be despised? 
What does her opinion matter? Wliat does any woman% 
any rnan^s opinion matter? A contemptible herd! The 
world is wide, and I have money in plenty. W^hile it lasts 


KILDEE; OR, THE SPHi:^X OF THE RED HOUSE. 185 

I can go on buying the smiles of beauty at all they are 
worth, buying flatteries and followers and excitements. I 
can take the steamer to-morrow for the Continent. I can 
go to Paris, to Vienna; there to do what? Begin again 
the old round of feverish pleasure-seeking, only with a 
heart grown older, wearier, bitterer? It sickens me to 
think of it. And I should see that girPs eyes everywhere, 
with that look of loathing in them. Great God! is there 
no ease, no rest?^^ 

His hand fell heavily on the table as he stopped beside 
it in his walk. His fingers struck against the revolver; he 
seized it and put its muzzle against his temple — then he 
lowered it and looked down its bore. 

That drop of cold lead would quench the brain-burn- 
ing,^^ he said. 

^ No life lives forever, 

Dead men rise up never.’ 

I believe that, yet I have not courage to test it. ^ It is 
cowardly to take one^s own life,^ said that little thrilling 
voice. But how to live on! how to endure this fever of 
living!^^ 

He grasped the decanter of brandy and poured out a full 
draught. He raised the glass to his lips, but suddenly he 
flung it from him, shivering it against the grate. I will 
not deaden my brain by any such coarse anodyne,^^ he ex- 
claimed; let the devils tug at it as they niay.^^ 

He threw himself into a chair and sunk his head between 
his hands. Hot tears fell from his eyes. His strong nature 
struggled and suffered strongly. The women he had 
wronged in his life, frivolous beings though they may have 
been, were avenged through a woman. Love, which he 
had mocked at, made him feel its power and truth. Thus 
fate works out her revenges. 


186 kildee; oR;, the sphinx of the red house. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

When they were outside the door, Heathcliff turned to 
the officers who had accompanied him : 

‘^Pardon me, gentlemen,^^ he said, for taking the 
lead in this. I know Carleon well; I have some little in- 
fluence over him. I saw his mood at once. He Is in a 
high state of excitement. His coolness is put on. That 
acknowledgment of his wrong-doing would never have been 
made but in the white heat of excitement. I did not want 
to press his mood. 

All the same, he deserves to be called to account,^' 
said Tatem, gruffly. Even if that girl does not appear 
against him, we have his own confession that he brought 
her here by fraud, confined her by force, and was on the 
point of tricking her into mariying him. Such lawless 
proceedings ought not to go unpunished. 

‘‘ That is true; action can still be taken in the matter. 
My wish just now was to avoid further irritating a desper- 
ate man. For that child ^s sake it would be best not to 
make the affair public, but justice should take its course. 
I believe the girl to be innocent, and investigation will not 
hurt her with right-feeling people. 

What the devil,^^ said the blunt Tatem, ‘Mid that 
fellow Carleon mean by cutting up so about the matter of 
arrest? The arrest would amount to nothing. He would 
give bond for his appearance at court, and when the trial 
came on his money would get him off scot-free. It always 
has. What possessed him to bluster in that style about be- 
ing arrested?’^ 

“ I doiFt know. It is not like Carleon to bully. He is 
brave to recklessness, but he is no bully. It occurs to me 
he wanted to invite violence, that he might do some des- 


KILDEE; OR^ THE SPHIHX OE THE RED HOUSE. 187 

perate act — shoot one of us and get shot, or turn his bullet 
against himself. He was worked up to such a rash mood 
by disappointment, perhaps by remorse. The girl said 
this, you remember. 

‘^Carleon remorseful exclaimed young Lynn, with a 
scornful laugh. 

^ But it is true,^^ said a soft voice behind them. Kildee 
had come out on the porch and stood there unperceived. 

He is in a fearful state of remorse; he talked of killing 
himself, but I do not think he will. I am so glad you did 
not arrest him. He had put a strain on himself and it 
would have given way if he had been provoked. He might 
have done something terrible to you or himself. 

We will leave him alone for the presen t,^^ Heathclitf 
said. I see you are ready, Kildee; let us go."^^ 

On the way to the beach the sound of a violin caught 
Kildee^s ear. She looked and saw a familiar figure seated 
in the boat — St. Peter in his gray blouse and funny skull- 
cap, which some foreign sailor had given him. His long, 
gray locks were blowing in the wind, his vacant, melan- 
choly eyes were turned in the direction of the house. A 
gleam of delight leaped into them when he saw Kildee. He 
rose up and began to nod his head and play with such ani- 
mation that Zach crept out of his usual hiding-place and 
began to caper on his master^s shoulder in enjoyment of 
the music, and anticipation that it would call forth some 
tangible demonstration from the listeners, such as peanuts 
and gingerbread. 

He sprung into Kildee^s arms the moment she came 
near. St. Peter, hugging his violin with one arm, caught 
hold of her dress and looked with wistful joy into her face, 
uttering broken words, void of sense, but full of happy sig- . 
nificance. 

Kildee, laughing and half crying, hugged Zach and 
patted St. Peter^s shoulder, put the unkempt locks out of 
his eyes and buttoned the collar of his woolen shirt. 


188 kildee; ok, the sphikx oe the ked house. 

So this queer pair are friends of yours/*’ the mayor 
said. I wondered what made the old fiddler so persistent 
to come with us. There was no keeping him out of the 
boat.” 

He had seen me at the window when I was a prisoner 
in the little upper room, and he has sense where his feel- 
ings are concerned, poor dear,” said Kildee. 

You know him well then?” 

Oh! he belonged to us. He was our orchestra. We 
were all fond of him and he of us, but he liked me best. 
He must have stolen away from them and followed me, 
when they took me away from my friends.” 

Who are these friends?” 

They are named Duck — such a homely name that Papa 
Professor — he taught Shakespeare and the ballet — changed 
it to Ducciole when we went to travel.” 

You went out then as a Dramatic Company?” 

‘‘ It was just our family. Papa and Mamma Duck — 
I called them so — and Lottie, their daughter, and their two 
sons. Yes, and a young musician and scene painter, named 
Max Eubin.” Kildee uttered the name in a lower tone. 

We picked St. Peter up wandering in the street; rather 
I did him a little good turn, and he followed me home and 
has been attached to me ever since. He plays wonderfully 
on the violin; don’t you think so? and he is very good and 
gentle, only sometimes he gets angry and then he is a 
perfect lion. But I can always tame him; he always listens 
to me,” Kildee added, caressing the lion’s shaggy mane. 

Were those theatrical people related to you?” 

‘‘ Ko, I wish they were, they were all so good. I have 
no kin that I know of. A woman, who said she was my 
mother, had charge of me when I can first remember. She 
left me in a lodging-house when I was seven years old, and 
I was found by a young man — the artist. Max Eubin — who 
I told you belonged to our troupe. He took care of me for a 
time, and then the Ducks adopted me as their child. I 


KILDEE; OB, THE SPHIHX OF THE BED HOUSE. 189 

have lived with them ever since, until, a few weeks ago, 
the woman who claimed to be my mother took me away 
and brought me here.^^ 

And this woman was not your mother 

No; Mr. Carleon told me she was not, just a few mo- 
ments before you came. ^ 

Then this was the lady I met going Out of the room 
as I entered — Mrs. Gonzalis. It was she who claimed to 
be your mother? 

Yes. You seemed to recognize her. You have known 
her before 

had known her before — years before,^ ^ answered 
Heathcliff, his eyes clouding with the shadow of a memory. 

She had no daughter then. I feel sure you are not her 
child. 

Oh! I always felt she was not my mother, but ! was 
glad to know it.^^ 

Did Carleon tell you who were your parents?^ ^ 

No; he seemed about to tell me something that Mrs. 
Gonzalis had told him, but she interposed and said the 
story was not true, that she had deceived him.^^ 

Heathcliff looked earnestly at the girDs face. The 
breeze had blown back her hat, and the mellow light of 
the low' sun was full on her broad brow and clear-cut, 
high-bred features. Who did she remind him of? Some 
face, it seemed, he had lately seen — but whose? 

Mrs. Gonzalis left the house shortly after I entered it,^^ 
he said presently. I saw her from the window, crossing 
the bay in a little skiff — rowing herself. I recognized her 
figure. Do you know which way she went?^^ 

I did not know she had left the island. She said a little 
wdiile ago that she repented ever having come, and seemed 
restless and uneasy. 

It is probable that she will leave the city on some train 
that goes out to-night, mused Heathcliff. Two trains 
left at five; she did not reach the depot in time to take 


190 kildee; ok^ the sphinx oe the red house. 

either of these. Two express trains leave at eight; it is 
probable she will take passage on one of these. Then he 
added to himself: I must see her before she goes. 

Mayor Heathcliff studied the girhs face well during the 
row from the island to the main-shore. The result of that 
study and the pathos of her simply told tale stirred interest 
and sympathy in his breast. 

They reached the landing just as the sun — a great red 
globe — dropped behind the roofs and steeples of Wallport. 
The mayor dismissed the two officers who had accompanied 
him, Avith thanks for their services and a request to meet 
him in the office next day when it would be decided what 
should be done in the affair at Aphrodite Island. Then he 
turned to KiWee: 

What will you dor^^ he asked of her. 

I will thank you from my heart for your kindness, and 
say good-by/^ she answered, holding out her hand. 

He took it and felt that it trembled. Her little face was 
quite pale. The noisy, motley, elbowdng, careless crowd 
on the levee made her courage falter. This was the world 
in which she was to push her way to a place. She held fast 
hold of St. Peter with one hand; behind her walked a boy 
with her little trunk. The ma 3 ^or had had no intention of 
leaving her unprotected. He drew her hand through his arm. 

^^My carriage is waiting for me close by,^^ he said. 

Let me put you down at the place you wish to go to.'^^ 

I have no place in my mind. I am strange to this 
city. I have no friend here. 

Shall I take you to the house of some good lady friend 
of mine; or to my own house — I have a pleasant old house- 
keeper — until you can look about you and decide what you 
will do, or write to your friends?^^ 

She shook her head. 

I donT know where they are; and 1 have no money to 
go to them. No, Mr. Heathcliff ; I would like to go to 
work to earn my living. I would like to go at once.'^^ 


kildee; ok^ the sphinx oe the red house. 191 

He smiled at her earnestness and at the business-like 
look on her little face. 

At once?^^ he repeated, signing toward the sunset sky. 

‘ The night cometh when no man can work/ he quoted; 

nor little woman either. What khid of work would you 
hke?^^ 

Any I can do. I am not accomplished. I can not do 
anything that requires culture. I can read pretty well, and 
I^write a good plain hand, and I know enough of figures to 
cast up simple accounts, that is all. But I can sew, and 
trim, and make pastry and cook it, and I can do house- 
work and nurse the sick.^^ 

Why, you are accomplished, after all,^^ said the mayor 
smiling. ‘‘ I think we can find you a place. There is a 
nice old lady of my acquaintance who keeps a little fruit 
and flower shop. Her husband is a kind-hearted, crochety 
old fellow; he raises flowers and rabbits in a tiny square of 
garden not much bigger than a bed-quilt, back of the shop. 
They sleep above the shop and the place up there looks at- 
tractive from the outside, with its balcony and bird-cages 
and flowering plants, A day or two ago, Madame Jean 
told me her rheumatism made it so bad for her to stand 
that she must give up her business or get an assistant. I 
advised her to get a good, smart girl to help har, and she 
shrugged her plump shoulders, and said girls, both good 
and smart, were scarce as blackberries in December. 

I am afraid she will not think I am that rare combina- 
tion,^’ Kildee said. 

WeTl risk it,^^ the mayor answered, and he called to 
the coachman and bade him drive to Mme. Jeans’s fruit 
shop on Main Street. 

Kildee looked out of the window, seeing the city sights in 
brilliant panorama as the carriage bowled over the well- 
paved streets, yet scarcely noting' what she saw, for her 
thoughts were busy with other things. Suddenly she 
turned to Heathcliff. 


192 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

‘‘Tliere^s St. Peter/^ she said; my poor comrade 
here; what will be done with him: Where has he been 
staying?’^ 

Part of the time at the Charity Home in this city. I 
carried him to that institution. But they tell me he will 
not stay there — strays off every day, usually to the wharf. 

He would not stray away from me,^^ Kildee said. He 
was restless because he was looking for me. If I could ob- 
tain this place at the fruit shop, would it be possible to get 
St. Peter in there too? He is harmless and he eats very 
little, and he plays beautifully, and Zach, the marmoset, 
turns somersaults and dances. It would attract custom to 
the shop, would it not?’^ 

I think so,^’ the mayor said, inwardly smiling at her 
earnestness and simplicity. Yes; I fancy that St. Peter^s 
accomplishments, topped by Zach^s, would prove a draw- 
ing card. 

He said to himself that if Mme. Jean did not regard it in 
that light, he would privately pay the daft fiddler^s board 
at her establishment and St. Peter^s independent little 
guardian none the wiser. 

Here we are,^^ he said at length, as the carriage 
stopped. Kildee looked out and saw two large shop-win- 
dows already lighted up, displaying prettily arranged fruits 
and candy jars, interspersed with pots of flowering plants. 
She had a glimpse of a lighted interior, with a tinted paper 
on the wall, well-filled shelves and hanging baskets and 
bird-cages. 

Kildee made St. Peter understand that he must wait out- 
side the door while she went with the mayor inside. 

That is Madame Jean, Heathclilf said, as they stopped 
just across the threshold, beside the cage of a pair of lovely 
Jamaica sparrows. He pointed to a short, plump old lady, 
in a lilac-flowered muslin with wide sleeves looped up, a 
fresh complexion and crisp gray curls. She was arranging 
cut flowers in a basket for a customer who was standing 


kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 193 

impatiently watching the process. ’A tiny, shaggy black 
spaniel with an old solemn face, gray-whiskered and one- 
eyed, sat on the counter gravely eying his mistresses pro- 
ceedings. 

Mme. Jean was evidently hurried and nervous. Her lit- 
tle plump hands made awkward movements; the flower 
stems were refractory, the foliage and vine-sprays rebellious. 

Angeline,e^ called a plaintive voice from within. Am 
I not to have any tea? This toast is choking me. 

The stem of a superb Mar^.chal Neil rose snapped off 
short in Mme. Jean^s hand. She gave a quick movement, 
and evidently a rheumatic twinge assailed her, for she bit 
her lip and her rosy color ebbed. She pushed flowers and 
basket from her. 

It is onpossib^ to fill your ordare, sir,^^ she said. We 
have no flower-baskets to-day. 

But y^u promised, and I have been waiting all this 
while. This is a nice way to serve an old customer. 

She waved her hands outward and made a mock bow. 

You are at libertee to tak your custom otter way, mon- 
sieur, she said. 

I wish she would let me arrange the flowers/^ Kildee 
said in an undertone to the mayor. 

He stepped forward, holding her hand. 

Good-evening, Madame Jean. Can I get some purple 
figs for my cream this evening? Not now; presently when 
you are at leisure. I want to try once more to make friends 
with Hugo, this most dignified of dogs. Meantime, I have 
a little friend here who thinks she can make that basket 
look all right. Will you let her try, while you go and give 
your good husband his tea?^-^ 

The Dutch-doll face lighted up. 

Ah, my friend, you are good — always good. Tee leetle 
one s^all try her hand at tee basket, reet welcome. 

She bowed, smiling, and went into the inner room. Kil- 
dee took the basket and began the work of arranging the 


194 kildee; on , the sphikx of the ked house. 

flowers in it. Heathcliff watched her deft Angers inter- 
weaving flower-stems^ adjusting sprays and twisting vines 
about the basket-handle. The impatient customer began 
to look well pleased as he saw the basket growing into a 
thing of beauty. 

Does it come to you by instinct, this sort of thing, as 
nest-building comes to a jenny wren?^^ asked the mayor 
when the last graceful sprays of smilax were added to the 
mass of bloom and fragrance. 

‘‘I have done this often and often, said Kildee. 

Fixed baskets^ you know, to be sent to us on the stage. 

As complimentary homages from an admiring audi- 
ence,^ ^ Heathcliff said. 

She nodded, then looked up and caught his quizzical 
smile, and blushed. 

‘‘It was by way of advertisement,^^ she said. “Papa 
Professor said it was all square, and he wouldn^t do any- 
thing that was not fair. 

Mme. Jean came from the inner room just as the tall 
young man received his basket, and was saying to Kildee: 

“ Kerens the old lady’s two dollars, and a quarter over, 
which you have a right to pocket, my little maid. It^s the 
prettiest basket IVe ever seen.^^ 

“ The flowers were so lovely,’^ Kildee said, disclaiming- 
ly. She put the money into Mme. Jean^s hand, shaking 
her head, smiling, but firm, when that lady insisted on her 
accepting a silver half-dollar. 

“ Ah, if one could get une petite, so nice and handee, to 
asseest in tee shop!’^ said madame. 

“ The petite is at your service, Madame Jean,^’ returned 
the mayor. ‘ ‘ Behold in me the fairy godfather who 
brings you the treasure you so much coveted — a treasure, 
scarce, you declared, as Christmas blackberries — a good 
and smart girl to help you. 

“ Ah!’’ Mme. Jean became instantly critical. She put 
on her gold-rimmed glasses and inspected the girl as she was 


kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 195 

wont to do the fruit she bought of the v/holesale dealer^ 
spying for specks and bruises. 

She look ver^ tendre, deelicate/^ she said. 

But she looks healthy and she looks good, and she is 
smart, as you have seen,^^ said the mayor, quite diverted. 

Looks weel tell lie. Monsieur le Maire; looks weel tell 
lie,^'' said the little fat doll, sententiously. Then she 
added: ‘^We s^all see how Hugo likes her. Hugo haf 
more sense as men. Here, Hugo. 

She put the fluffy black morsel on the counter and said 
to him : 

Hugo, ees Ma^m^selle — w^at s^all I sayr^^ 

Kildee, said the mayor. 

‘^Keeldee! Ah, tees Americaine name! Hugo, s^all 
Ma^m^selle Keeldee be friends weefc us?^^ 

The namesake of the great poet cocked his head on one 
side and scrutinized Kildee. A look of grave suspicion was 
in his one eye. Kildee could not help smiling. Hugo drew 
himself up as though to intimate that he was not to be 
biased in his judgment by such cajolery; ut length his ex- 
pression relaxed in its severity; he held out his paw; Kildee 
shook it, laughing. 

Hugo approves of her,^^ said Heathcliff, who had en- 
joyed the little Frenchwoman's test. 

Mme. Jean nodded and signified her indorsement of 
Hugo^s opinion by patting Kildee^’s shoulder. Mme. Jean^s 
husband now came in, a little dark person with olive skin, 
crinkled with fine wrinkles, keen black eyes, and curly 
iron-gray hair. He wore a red-flowered dressing-gown and 
a black velvet cap with a tarnished tassel. Kildee^’s love 
of the picturesque was gratified by his looks. She thought 
the two a quaint and charming pair. 

The mayor presented Kildee to M. Jean, and madame 
informed him that she thought of taking the girl as assist- 
ant and that Hugo had shown himself satisfied with her. 

St. Peter, meanwhile, tired of standing outside with his 


19.6 kildee; ok^ the sphijstx oe the red house. 

back against the wall teased by his usual torments^ the 
boys, had taken his seat on the door-step and now began to 
play. 

^‘Hist!^’ said M. Jean, holding up his hand. ‘‘Tat 
ees music/ ^ 

St. Peter was playing a lively waltz, and the people be- . 
gan to gather in front of the door to listen. Kildee, anx- 
ious to show off her proteges, gave a little, low whistle, and 
Zach, who had been peeping from his hiding-place in the 
saint^s shirt-bosom, popped out and began to dance. The 
crowd in front of the door thickened; M. Jean clapped his 
hands in delight. 

“ I like to hire tee fellow shust to play for me,^"^ he said. 

“ He would bring tee people, said practical madame, 
preparing to answer a demand for candy and peanuts from 
boys who wished to see the marmoset eat. 

“ He is an old friend of Kiidee^s,^^ said the mayor; 
“ and insists on staying where she does. He is half-witted, 
but harmless as a child. Could you find a cuddy hole for 
him to sleep in?^^ 

Cert ainement,^^ assured monsieur. “We weel tak 
^em, we weel tak bof all tree. Come here, 'petite; w’at 
can you do?^'’ 

“ I can make flower-baskets and sell oranges, monsieur. 

“ Ah, tat is in niadame^s line. You like to teend roses 
and peenks, eh?^^ 

“ Dearly, monsieur. 

“You can sing?^^ 

“ Pretty well. 

“ And dance 
“ Ah, yes!^^ 

“ And make tea?^^ 

“ I can do that best of all.^^ 

“ Tres Imi ! You do for me eexact. She weel mek tee 
old folks merry, eh! Angeliner’^ 

“ It is not better to be so merry, said the doll didactic- 


KILDEE; OR;, THE SPHIHX OF THE RED HOUSE. 197 

ally, but she smiled kindly at Kildee, as she filled numer- 
ous brown paper bags with fruit and candy for the customers 
St. Peter^s music had enticed into the shop. 

And now for my figs and oranges/^ said Heathcliff. 

While she was putting them up, she asked: 

Haf la petite any people — rointmi 

None, she is alone in the world. She has become sep- 
arated, through no fault of hers, from the friends who 
brought her up.^^ 

She is bout so old as Rosie would haf been — ma pauvre 
Rosie, said Mme. Jean, her eyes growing wet as she 
looked at the girl, who was talking to delighted M. Jean. 

She might haf Rosie^s room; nobody haf sleep tere since 
Rosie taken away. Monsieur le Maire, I weel tak tee lee- 
tle one; emais I can pay her but tree or four dollar a week 
and her board. 

Very well; I care more for getting her a home and oc- 
cupation than anything else. And about her friend, the 
old musician. If you can give him lodging and food, I will 
see that you are paid for it.'’^ 

It is all reet. Monsieur le Maire, said madame, nod- 
ding until her little gray curls quivered. 

You are regularly installed here if you wish it, little 
maid,^^ said the mayor, turning to Kildee. And now,^^ 
he added, to cut short her thanks, you shall have your 
hearths desire — ^ work at once.'^ Come, sell me the pretti- 
est bouquet you can pick out.^^ 


198 kildee; ok, the sphikx oe the ked house. 


CHAPTER XXVL 

People in general called Heathcliff cold. Society ladies 
who had tried in vain to entice him to dinner-parties spoke 
of him as a mere money-making machine/^ political 
cliques that had failed in their effort to use him character- 
ized him as a hard-headed cuss/^ enthusiastic spinsters 
whom he had treated brusquely when they urged him to 
contribute to refurnishing the church altar and draping the 
pulpit in sky-blue, to match the color of the young min- 
ister's eyes, voted him a stingy curmudgeon. But you 
would not find this verdict indorsed in the poor quarter of 
the town, or by tlie better laboring class. They would tell 
you that Heathcliff was an inflexible business man, strict 
in his dealings, exacting the fair day^s work for the fair 
day^s wages, frowning sternly upon dissipation and lazi- 
ness; but they would tell you also that when sickness or ac- 
cident brought want into their homes, the trouble was often 
lightened by the money and even the personal attendance 
of the so-called haughty mill-owner. 

But it was seldom that Heath cliffy s interest and sym- 
pathy had been so stirred for any One as for the girl he 
had found upon Aphrodite Island. Such a friendless young 
creature, so earnest and simple, so child-like, yet with a 
certain dignity and practical wisdom that the mayor thought 
very quaint. There was no common blood, in her veins; 
he felt sure of this, and one of his reasons for wishing to 
find Mrs. Gonzalis was to try and get from her the secret 
of the girPs parentage. This was in his mind when he 
hurried to the depot after leaving Mme. Jeans's fruit 
shop. 


KILDEE; OE, THE SPHIHX OF THE FED HOUSE. 199 

It waated but half an hour to eight. Two trains for 
different roads were under the great turtle-shaped dome of 
the lighted depot waiting to have their engines attached. 
Heathcliff went into the ticket-office and drew the young 
agent aside. 

Dyke/^ he said^ ^Miave you sold a ticket in the last 
hour to a lady, unattended: graceful, slender shape; dressed 
in black; a brunette; very handsome though faded, and 
wears a veil?^^ 

Yes, I sold a through ticket to St. Louis to just such 
a woman about half an hour ago. ShouldnT remember, 
may be, only she hadnT money to pay for the ticket in full 
and wanted me to take a ring— turquois, I think, she said 
— for the rest. Of course I didiiT, though the ring was 
worth more, I expect, than the balance. She went off and 
realized on it somehow, I reckon, for she came back and 
bought the ticket. She is in the car next the sleeper; I 
saw her go in.-^^ 

Heathcliff made his way to the car, and walking through 
it soon discovered the object of his quest. The evening 
was very warm, and she had thrown her veil back, and 
leaned against the open window, seeming faint or fatigued. 
A white, weird beam from the electric illumination outside 
struck across her face. Heathcliff stopped and looked at 
her for a second. This was the face that had nearly crushed 
his life when that life was in its. early bloom. Cruelly 
changed, but lovely still! He stepped nearer to her, still 
unnoticed, and bent over: 

Zulimee!^^ 

She started and turned a wild, frightened look upon him. 
Her hand went at once to her heart. 

^^Is it you?'’'’ she panted. How you startled me! 
I thought — I mean, I was not expecting to see 
youJ^ 

‘‘ ISTor desiring to see me,^^ he said, seating himself by 
her. 


200 kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 

‘‘No; why should I? I do not desire anything that 
makes me look back. I live only for the day. And we 
are never glad to see one we have wronged.'’^ 

‘ ‘ I have forgiven the wrong you did me, Zulimee. It 
was a hard blow at first, but it did me good in one way. It 
destroyed crude illusions and cooled my boyish blood. I 
owe my worldly success to it in a measure. . From the fur- 
nace and the sledge blows of that trial my soft iron came 
out steel. 

“ I am glad if any good came out of the evil. But no 
thanks were due to me. The deed was one of the many I 
donT like to think over. I, a woman, ripened by fiery ex- 
periences, set myself to winning a boy’s fresh heart through 
mere feverish restlessness and desire to drown reflection. 
But God knows I never meant it to go so far. I never 
thought it could hurt you as it did; I never dreamed you 
could care for me so, you were such a boy.” 

“ Love ripens a boy’s heart fast enough — particularly a 
romantic, inexperienced boy such as I was. And you were 
so lovely! Do you know it is just twelve years yesterday, 
since I saw you first — that summer afternoon when I 
walked in the woods on the Orran River, wrapped in a 
dream, that was broken by the gallop of a runaway horse. 
In another moment I saw you clinging to the oak limb you 
had grasped when your horse ran under it— hanging there 
by your white arms in a cloud of loosened hair. How 
beautiful you were!” 

“ For God’s sake don’t recall it. Don’t recall anything. 
That beauty was my curse. But for it I might be sitting 
to-night by a happy hearth, instead of going out under the 
shadow of darkness, where I don’t know, nor care — a 
wretch, forsaken of God and man, with not one tie, nor 
one hope on earth. ” 

Her low tones were tense with feeling, they went to 
Heathcliff’s heart. He was moved to say: 

“ Zulimee, you have a near tie. Your son — the child 


kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 201 

' you once spoke of to me, and wept so — your child 
lives. 

You have seen bim?^^ she asked, breathlessly. 

Yes; you remember that on that bitter day when you 
told me you had only played with, me, you said you had no 
love to give, it was all crushed out, and there was nothing 
but a wild longing for your child that had been taken away 
from you. You gave me then all the clew you had as to 
what had been done with your child. I followed up that 
clew — I found the boy at last, in good hands — but you had 
disappeared. A few years later, the boy also disappeared. 
I lost sight of him until not two years ago, when I met him 
face to face and knew him by his likeness to you. After 
circumstances confirmed me. He lives, you can see him 
to-night^ — this hour. 

‘‘ Ah — He is here!^^ Her breath came short; her hand 
clutched her heart. Is he w^ell? — is he happy?^^ 

He is in full health — buoyant, ambitious. Men pre- 
dict his success. Will you see him?^'^ 

I — will — not see him now — nor ever.^^ 

Why?^^ 

Can you ask? Do you not feel why I can not see my 
boy — and have him — blush for his wother 

Her features quivered convulsively; then, as the tears 
came, she said, softly: 

‘‘ My sweet boy — my beautiful! Oh, I was innocent 
when I last held him in my arms!^^ 

She wrung her thin, ungloved hands together and looked 
at Heathcliff with burning eyes. 

‘^•Ira Heathcliif, why did you come here to torment me? 
Was this all you sought me for? Only to recall that past I 
try to trample upon and bury out of sight! Talk of some- 
thing else. I thought, when you came, you wanted to ask 
me about that island affair. Tell me, have you taken the 
girl away from there ?^^ 

Yes; she is with good peo|)le who will care for her. 


202 kildee; or, the sphikx oe the red house. 

Thank Heaven for that! Oh, I wronged that poor 
child! Would to God I could make reparation !^^ 

‘‘ Will you tell me about her? She is not your child, I 
know. How did you come by her? Who are her par- 
enfcs?^^ 

I can not tell you.'’^ 

You will not make her that much amends?^^ 

I ca7i not, I tell you. Fear keeps me from it — fear 
stronger than the fear of death. In my last hour I will 
tell whose child she is — not till then.^^ 

The train began to move. Heathclilf flung the package 
of fruit and the flowers he had bought at Mine. Jean^s into 
Zulimee^s lap; he wrung her hot, slender hand, and left 
her. 

She buried her burning face in the cool flowers; a piece 
of paper touched her cheek; she drew it out and held it 
toward the lamp. It was a bank-note for five hundred 
dollars. She burst into tears. 

Oh! I wish he had not given it,^^ she said to herself. 
It hurts me to take money from him. He was so true 
and grand, even as a boy — and I did him such a cruel 
wrong. 


CHAPTEK XXVII. 

While the train that bore the beautiful, miserable 
woman away from the sea-side city was rushing on in dark- 
ness over marsh and lagoon and cypress swaniji, the boy 
who had Zulimee^’s midnight eyes, and long curled lashes 
and low brow shadowed by rings of black hair, sat at his 
familiar post — the window of the dilapidated building he 
had rented to forward his investigations into the Eed House 
mystery. He sat in the darkness — he never lighted a lamp, 
or allowed any sign of occupation to be seen about the 


ktldee; or, the sphthx of the red house. . 203 

liouse — and looked across the intervening space over the 
tops of the olive and magnolia- trees, to the window of that 
room which he called the penetralia of the Sphinx. He 
could see but the one window, the other was hidden by 
foliage — and the blinds of this were most often closed — al- 
ways in the day. Sometimes, however, they were open, 
avKi a white curtain fell across the window in their stead. 
On this curtain he had more than once seen the shadow of 
that graceful shape. 

One night he had watched her putting up her hair; had 
seen the shapely bare arms lifting and twisting the mass of 
long tresses which he fancied were dark gold in color. 

Sometimes he had found the window open, but the room 
unlighted, and had heard the mysterious mistress of the 
sanctum talking to her birds and trilling little snatches of 
song to encourage them to sing. 

Fancy that deformed hag possessing such a voice,^^ .he 
said, as he listened to the delicious sweetness of the notes. 

The pursuit of this shadowy enigma became intensely 
fascinating to the young reporter. No Eomeo anticipating 
an interview with his Juliet, no enthusiast in astronomy on 
the verge of solving a celestial problem ever looked forward 
to the coming of night more anxiously than did this youth- 
ful attache of The Eattler.'’’ He did his day^s work with 
feverish energy as one under the influence of a strong stim- 
ulant; he swallowed the iced tea and toast that constituted 
his scant supper and hurried to his post of observation — 
taking every precaution not to be seen. 

The mysterious Sphinx began to exercise a strange in- 
fluence upon his imagination. He pictured her to himself. 
His fancy filled out the suggestion of the shadow on the 
curtain with round, glowing limbs, with warm-tinted, pal- 
pitating flesh. He imagined the color of her eyes to be 
soft purple — the hue of the Mediterranean. The throat 
whence issued those exquisite notes, he knew must be soft 
and round. He could fancy it throbbing like a white bird^s 


204 kildee; or, the sphijs^x of the red house. 

when she sung. Once, he dreamed of her, and he felt 
angry with himself because he had not the artistes power to 
put that dream-irnage into colors. He had it in his mind 
when lie sat with General Montcalm on the back porch 
that shaded that gentleman^s study. 

They had smoked for some time in silence. Hazard^s 
thonghts were with his Mystery of the Eed House, but he 
had almost ceased to associate her with the Montcalm mur- 
der and the reward, and he almost started when the gen- 
eral said: 

Have you made any progress in that detective business. 
Hazard 

I — I can hardly say, sir. I have taken some steps that 
may or may not prove important/ 

Have you got hold of anything like a clew to the 
whereabouts of that woman 

I may have a strong, sure clew, or it may possibly turn 
out none at all. I have not yet followed it up.*^^ 

What hinders you?^^ 

I am waiting further developments. There is a house 
I want searched, but I have hardly grounds yet to demand 
a warrant for such a proceeding. 

You think Laura Montcalm may be concealed in that 
house? 

I do. I suspect that she has been in this city all the 
while — that she has been harbored by a man of wealth and 
high standing. 

Yot Carleon, then?^^ 

No, altogether a different person — a man known and 
respected all over the whole State. 

You amaze me. This must be a chimera of your brain, 
my boy. Who is the man?^^ 

I would rather not tell you now. I will wait until I 
am sure of my game. But this is no fancy, believe me. It 
is grounded on singular and suspicious circumstances. 
General, let me ask you a few questions, and don'T infer 


kildee; ok, the sphihx of the red house. 205 

anything from them, please. They may have a bearing on 
the matter in hand, or they may not. How long has old 
Miss Faust — the deformed occupant of the Ked House, 
been living in Wallport?^^ 

About seven or eight years, I believe. Heathcliff 
bought the Red House property for her after old Glynn, 
who built it, drowned himself in his bath-tub. He had 
strangled his young wife in that same house, everybody be- 
lieves, though the family doctor reported heart disease as 
the cause of her sudden death. Miss Faust flitted here in 
the night, like a bat (she is as ugly as any vampire), and 
took up her abode in the gloomy old mansion. She has 
never left it but once, that I know of — when she went to 
Europe for a short time. Once I saw her riding with 
Heathcliff, veiled and muffled up. She wears a veil in the 
house as well as out, so sensitive is she to her disflgurement 
— an enormous nose and a purple mark covering one side 
of her face. They say she is not only ugly as a flend, but 
has the temper of one ; is soured against the world, though 
she gives to charitable purposes sometimes generously 
enough — through Heathcliff. He is her lawyer and busi- 
ness agent. Nobody ever enters her house but he, not 
even a doctor. She believes in the cold- water-cure and 
practices it on herself. 

You say she has been away once since she settled at 
the Red House — that she went to Europe on a short 
visit 

Yes; she has a brother living in Germany at their old 
family castle on the Rhine; Heathcliff told me. They had 
been estranged, and she was very angry with him, but he 
wrote while on his death-bed, begging her to come to him; 
and she went. She did not expect to return, and gave 
Heathcliff directions to rent or sell the Red House, but lo! 
and behold she was back again in two months^ time — re- 
turned, as she had gone — in the night. 

When was it she returned?^^ 


206 kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 

Why, let me see — about two 3^ears ago."^^ 

^ Two years ago? The murder of your brother occurred 
about that time, did it not?^^ 

Yes; but what the mischief has Miss Faust to do with 
the murder ?^^ 

Pardon me, said Hazard, smiling and tossing his 
half- smoked cigar over the balustrade, ‘^and let me 
go on with my questions. Was there no one beside his 
wife, who might be suspected of killing Captain Mout- 
calm — no one who might have had a motive for the 
murder?^^ 

I donT know, and it don’t matter; nobody but his 
wife did do the deed — that is clear as noonday. The gold- 
mounted stiletto she wore that day, as an ornament, was 
found in his heart. There was no one in the house but 
themselves at the time he was killed. She had disobeyed 
him that day — gone with a fast party over to Oarleon’s 
seraglio on Aphrodite Island. He was deeply incensed, as 
he ought to have been. He denounced her and she stabbed 
him. Then she coolly packed up her jewels and other 
valuables and left the house, stepping into the stream of 
blood that had run across the hall from the body of her 
husband lying in the library, and leaving her foot-prints in 
blood as she passed out. As she opened the door she came 
face to face with her maid, and the girPs escort, who were 
returning from a wedding. She started, then hurried by 
them. In her haste she caught her veil on the girl’s 
shoulder and both of the parties had a full view of her face 
in the bright moonlight. She has never, so far as known, 
been seen since. ” 

Yes,” returned Hazard. She was seen that same 
night entering Heathcliff’s yard.” 

Oh, that turned out all a mistake.” 

Did it? Well, perhaps so, but perhaps not. The fel- 
low who testified to it, and afterward talked and acted in a 
way to bring discredit on his own testimony, is a peculiar 


kildee; ok, the sphinx oe the red house. 207 

character. He is superstitious about testifying in a case of 
life and death, but — well, no matter — I have talked with 
him; he did not suspect me of being interested, and he told 
me a great deal more than was got out of him at the in '• 
quest; and — I believe all he told me. But to my questions. 
You are sure there was no one in the house at the time the 
murder occurred but the wife and husband? — where was 
the man who had brought Laura Montcalm from the island 
— her husband^s confidential clerk — her own old friend and 
adopted brother, as well as guardian? 

Whom do you mean — David Holt? Why, he had been 
taken desperately ill; was found in his room at my brother's 
warehouse next morning out of his head with brain fever. 
He never did recover his senses. It was a month before he 
was able to leave his bed; then his mind was gone. His 
friends took him away, and I believe, sent him to an 
asylum, where he died, as I heard. 

He didn^t die. He got out of the asylum and wan- 
dered off. He was harmless, and as he had no money or 
rich kin, they made no great exertion to find him. I have 
made pretty extensive inquiries after him, but without suc- 
cess as yet.-’’ 

What do you want with him?^^ 

Why, who knows but he may have been a witness to 
the murder? Who knows how that sudden brain trouble 
was brought on? It came the same night of the tragedy. 
He was the last person seen with Laura Montcalm.-’^ 

A lady and her husband, living near my brother, testi- 
fied to seeing Holt leave Mrs. Montcalm at the door, and 
go away in the direction of the warehouse.-’^ 

/^He may have returned. He may have witnessed the 
murder; he may now, even in his imbecile condition, re- 
tain some vague impression of it, and be led to say some- 
tliing that would throw light upon it. 

What do you want with more light? Every fool knows 
who did the murder. All we want is to find that female 


208 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

fiend — Laura Montodlm. That is the business I confided 
to you. Stick tp the matter in hand, my boy. Never 
mind collaterahcircumstances. If we can find that woman 
she is sure to hang. We need no more evidence than we 
have already. There is enough to put a rope around her 
neck. 

Hazard shuddered; the general saw it. 

“ You think me vindictive. Hazard, he said. am 
in this matter. I loved my brother as son and friend as 
well as brother. I was much older than he, and had had 
charge of him in his boyhood. He was a splendid fellow 
when he first grew up — handsome as a prince, generous, 
brave, gifted. He got into a scrape in Mexico with a 
woman, that came near making a cynic of him and an exile 
from his country; but he was coming out from that shadow. 
I looked to him to sustain the family name; to retrieve the 
mistakes of his youth and go down to the grave with 
honors, leaving an heir to our name. There is none now. 
I have no son. Do you wonder that I hate the murderer 
of my brother? I can never rest content until she has re- 
ceived the punishment she deserves — woman though she 
be.^^ 

And most fair, they tell me.^^ 

Ay, beautiful as Clytemnestra and as fiendish. I can^t 
talk of her* coolly. Follow up that clew if you have one; 
unearth her and bring her to punishment, and I am your 
debtor for life. 

Stern as Gatovs looked the old general’s Eoman features 
as he sat, his head thrown back on the violet lining of the 
chair, his deep-set eyes gazing out into the gathering 
gloom. 

Hazard thought of the old warrior’s lurid look and his 
fierce speech to-night, as he sat in the empty, cob webbed 
upper room of the old rookery he had rented that he might 
keep watch on the Ked House through the turned blinds of 
the window behind which he sat. The window opposite 


• kildee; ok^ the sphinx oe the ked house. ^9 

was unliglited. The moon was. shining high in the 
heavens, and its rays silvered the leaves of the olive and 
magnolia-trees. One of these beams touched the windows 
of the Sphinxes boudoir. 

If she should come to the window as she did once when 
the room was dark, and stand where the light falls, I could 
see her/" Hazard thought, and he waited, opera-glass in 
hand. 

She did come. She came and stood by the window; the 
outlines of her lovely shape were visible. Presently she 
seated herself in the low embrasure of the window, and 
leaned her head against the side-frame. She was dressed 
in a filmy white stuff; the moonlight glimmered here and 
there over her figure — over her waist, her arms, her shoul- 
ders, her full white throat even. Only her face and her 
head were in shadow. 

Sitting there she began to sing. Her song was in a minor 
key; plainly she was afraid lest- a 'tone of it should reach 
the street. But across the narrow space of moonlit dark- 
ness and stillness. Hazard could hear every note and word 
of the gypsy love-song: 

Zara, the moon has left the sky, 

We want the shining of thine eye. 

* Come, oh! come; 

Let those eyes of thine 
Pour light into mine. 

As the bright stars gleam on some dark stream. 

Come, oh! come. 

Zara, there’s sorrow in the sea; 

We want thy voice’s melody — 

Come, oh! come. 

Let its music free 
Float out to me 

As the wild wind sings to the lone harp-strings. 

Come — 


210 KILDEE; OJR, the S/H12srx OE THE KED HOUSE. « 
The song ceased a^ptly. 

Ah, you are at last; you are late/^ said the voice 
that had sung, ai^the figure started up from the window. 
The next insist the curtain was dropped; but Hazard saw 
a tall niaix^shape outlined upon the curtain. 

It is^eathcliff cried the boy. I would know that 
squar'6-shouldered, military shadow anywhere. Curse him! 
what does he want with two beautiful women? And beau* 
tiful that Mystery is. I could swear it by that shape, that 
voice, that lovely throat. That neck to have a rope knot- 
ted about it? Horrible! But it if my suspicions are 
true; and I am almost ready to stake my life upon it that they 
are. Ira Heathcliff, the Damocles sword hangs over you. 
A search warrant shall bring your dark secret to light. 
Then away goes your Sunday-school reputation, away goes 
your political prospects, away goes your marriage with 
Honor Montcalm. You will never lord it in the executive 
mansion; more likely you will preside over a cell in yonder 
jail. Your hour will be over, mine will begin to strike. 
Let Montcalm take his seat as governor, and I am sure of 
advancement — sure of the hand of that proud beauty who 
scorns me now.'^^ 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The hot August day was on the wane. The low sun 
looked through bars of crimson, shading into purple. A 
sea-breeze was abroad, cooling heated brows and stirring 
the plumes of the palm and pine. 

Cool as a fresh-opened flower looked Kildee in her lilac • 
muslin, standing under the blue and white awning in front 
of the shop. Before her were fruits and flowers and baskets 
of grapes arranged with vine-leaves; behind her (in the 
shop window) a background of broad-leaved aquatic plants 
and rich-flowered gladioli. 


\ kildee; or, the srnmx of the red house. 211 

St. Peter, now well combed and cared for, sat on a low 
stool, smiling in his half -happy, half-melancholy fashion as 
he watched the nimble fingers and sharp teeth of Zach ex- 
plore the winding labyrinth of a walnut. Madame Jean^s 
fruit and flower-shop had thriven since Kildee became the 
presiding genius. She and her proteges proved drawing 
cards indeed. They harmonized with the Italian look of 
the little shop. The figs and citrons, the little golden 
melons and red lilies, the graceful, dark-eyed child-woman, 
and the gray-haired musician with his refined brow and large, 
limpid, vacant eyes, his violin and his miniature monkey, 
and his confiding dependence on Kildee — these made up a 
picture which struck even the least imaginative. 

Carleon saw that picture this afternoon for the first time. 
He had been out on the race-track, riding Mahmoud furi- 
ously. The horse^s black hide was white-flecked with foam 
as the rider threw himself from the saddle in front of a 
public stable, and flung the bridle to a groom, with the 
orders to let the animal cool gradually. Two of his old as- 
sociates dashed up in a light buggy almost at the same in- 
stant; several other young bloods of the city were 
lounging in front of the handsome stable, drawn there by 
the fascination there is, for most men, in horses. They 
looked hard at Carleon when he rode up, and bowed to him 
in an eager way but did not venture to approach him. His 
manner was not encouraging. His moods of late had kept 
his satellites at a distance. They had never presumed. to 
be familiar; something about him forbade this. They were 
accustomed to occasional brusque and haughty treatment, 
to absent-minded indifference, to receiving favors seasoned 
with sarcasms, and to having their attempts at intimacy 
cut short by a cool disdain; but these were flitting moods. 
His present gloomy reserve seemed something that would 
not pass. His haughtiness became cold repulsion; his 
slightly stinging sarcasm became savage irony. Just now, 
when he was the theme of conversation, the object of pub- 


212 kildee; ok, thXsphinx of the rep house. 

lie curiosity, he b^ilfed all the attempts of his former asso- 
ciates to find out^ the meaning of his sudden curve. For 
he had astounded the public by donating to the city the 
whole of ^hrodite Island with its. beautiful grounds and 
grand mansion as a Home for Orphan Girls. What was 
his motive? Eeporters interviewed him without result, 
mhiisters approached him, hoping for a convert, and came 
away stung by his polished, half-sneering courtesy. The 
city fathers tendered thanks, and he cut short their 
speeches with uncivil brusqueness. 

One night, when he had lounged into his old club-room, 
through very restlessness, one of his disciples — a dashing 
young fellow who had claimed to be Carleon^s pet, piqued 
at his present indifference, began to chaff him in a way 
none of the others had ventured upon. 

DonT you see, boys; it^s one of two things. Either 
Carleon is in love with some demure little Methodist, and 
anxious to ingratiate himself with her papa, the preacher, 
or he is about to embark in politics and that donation is 
his grand coup. 

Carleon was looking at a picture lately hung. He had 
his back to the speaker and his group of listeners. He 
wheeled and looked at him. 

Do I remind you of a diplomat currying popular favor, 
or a lover seeking to please 

The fierce scorn in his eye and voice, the haughty, half- 
savage curl of his mustached lip made the young man 
change color and fall back a little as the other faced him. 

Of course I was only joking, he said, trying to laugh. 

Nobody can accuse you of wanting to please, particularly 
these latter days. But we can^t help puzzling over your 
late conundrum. What the Beelzebub was your object in 
doing that thing — the Aphrodite business, you know?^^ 

‘‘ The same that made Alcibiades of Athens cut off the 
tail of his dog — to give the fools of the city something to 
talk about, said Carleon, and he left the club-room. 


kildee; or, the sphthx or the red house. 213 

Ah, Caiieon,^^ said Vaughn, as the former was walk- 
ing away from the stable, you are the man I was looking 
for. I want to see you about leasing the Moran building. 
I heard you had refused to let Black renew his lease; is it 
so?^^ 

‘^Itis.^^ 

And was it, as he says, because he wanted it for a 
wholesale liquor store 

It doesn^t matter what it was because of. Do you 
want to lease the building 

Why, yes, but I should only want the first and second 
floor; but Parks — you know him — well, but let^s talk as 
we walk along. 

He hooked his arm in Carleon^s and they walked on 
together. They soon came to an end of the lease business, 
and talked of indifferent matters as they sauntered on in 
the stream of other pedestrians. 

‘"Here, turn this corner,^ ^ Vaughn said. “I want to 
show you a bit of ‘ Wilhelm Meister ^ — so it seems. Look 
there, in front of Madame Jean^s fruit-shop. See that 
majestic, melancholy old musician, with the flowing silver 
beard; see the girl by him with the great dark eyes, and 
sweet, wistful mouth, the clear, pale brow, and curling 
hair. Mignon and her unknown father — eh? If only the 
old chap had a harp instead of that Addle. 

Carleon slouched his hat over his eyes to hide his agita- 
tion. It was the first time he had seen Kildee since she 
left Aphrodite Island. 

“ Does she sell fruit for Madame Jean?^^ he managed to 
ask. 

“ Yes, fruit and flowers. Lovely, isnH she? — out of the 
way kind of beauty; I knew yoiPd appreciate it. You 
ought to thank me for showing her to you. However, 
it^s not so disinterested in me after all, for F\e squandered 
all my odd dimes and wasted my smiles and prettiest flat- 
teries in that quarter Avithout producing the least effect. 


214 kildee; or, the^sphinx of the red house. 

There^s no commonplace coyness about the girl; she’s 
free as a child in her ways, but there’s something about her 
I can"’! penetmte. But you — ” 

Nobody but a villain would try to penetrate that 
atmosphere of purity to do her an evil,^’ Carleon inter- 
rupted. 

Vaughn stared in blank amazement. 

‘‘ Thank you,” he said presently, forcing a laugh. I 
suppose you mean to be personal. Well, we will leave the 
pretty fruit girl alone. Shall we step into SchumieTs and 
get a beer?” 

No, I am going to buy some grapes of the girl, she 
has probably seen us looking at her. ” 

They went up to the fruit-stand under the cool, white 
and blue awning. Carleon cursed himself for a coward 
when he felt how fiercely his heart throbbed as he stood be- 
fore the little figure in lilac muslin and felt the glance of 
her dark soft eyes upon his face. But she was quite calm, 
though she had changed color when she saw him. She 
put up the grapes and counted out the change for the bill 
he gave her. 

These are large juicy pears — ^give me two of them,” 
he said; and while she was putting them up he dropped a 
ten-dollar gold piece into Zach’s little paw. Ten cents!” 
he said. I have given the money to your little pet here. 
You can bring the pears, Vaughn.” 

He walked on, leaving his friend to follow. Kildee ’s 
quick eye had detected the ruse, and she had as quickly 
checkmated it. 

Hillo!” said Vaughn, presently, as he cut one of the 
California pears. J^oes our pretty Pomona sell the golden 
fruit of Hesperides? See here. ” 

He held up the ten-dollar gold piece. Kildee had pressed 
it through the crisp rind of one of the pears. ‘‘ Witch- 
craft — isn’t it, eh?” 

Looks like it,” answered Carleon, moodily, vexed with 


KILDEE; THE SPHINX OF THE RED HOUSE. 215 

himself at the clnmsY attempt to help her, and fearful she 
would mistake ins motive. 

He could not resist the craving to see her, and next day 
found him near Mme. Jean^s. He intended to go by with- 
out pausing, save for one look, but as he was passing, a 
voice called his name, and turning, he saw Kildee looking 
at him with outstretched hand. 

Let me thank you,^^ she said. 

For what? You have no cause to thank me.*^^ 

^^Oh! I have. All orphan-girls owe you heartfelt 
thanks and blessings. 

She had that day heard of his gift of Aphrodite Island 
as a Home for Orphan Girls. 

Thank yourself,'’^ he said. But for you it would not 
have been. You would not accept anything from me for 
yourself; you would not even let your marmoset take that 
little present yesterday. 

She smiled deprecating ly; then she looked up archly. 

You owe me a quarter yet,^^ she said. 

His own features relaxed into a smile. He paid the 
money, and she said: 

And now, will you take a little gift from me? This 
was Monsieur Jean^s reward of merit for making good 
coffee this morning. 

She lifted a beautiful Gloire rose from a glass filled with 
water. 

I give it to you/^ she said, laying it in Carleon^s 
hand. 

He took it, his agitated eyes fixed themselves on her. 

‘^When I die the rose will be buried with me,""^ he 
said. 

His voice was husky with intense feeling. She dropped 
her eyes and her color faded; the smile left her lips. 

Fool that I am,'’^ he thought as he walked away. I 
- startle her with my insane passion. I will not let her look 
on me with tolerance. I must trample this mad feeling 


216 KIIDEEJ Oil, th:^i>hinx of the red house. 

/ 

oat of my heart. I <5ould do it if there were some strong, 
exciting movement to throw myself into. But where shall 
I hnd that? ^diave tried everything.-'^ 

That same evening Heathcliff said to M. Jean: 

I am troubled about my factory people. So many of 
them are down with the dengue fever that is ravaging the 
city. Whole families have been stricken with it at the 
Factory Tenement Row, and there is so much suffering it 
makes my heart ache. There is great scarcity of nurses. 
Many are dying for want of careful watching. I have just 
left a sad case — a woman who was an industrious, skillful 
weaver; but she is a crabbed, fierce creature, and by no 
means a favorite in the factory. She is ill, and I can get 
no one to nurse her for love or money. She will die if she 
dues not get proper attention.-'^ 

‘‘ Let nurse her, Mr. Heathclilf,^' said Kildee, who 
had listened intently. 

You? you are not strong enough. Besides, you would 
catch the fevei\ No, no, little bird.''^ 

I am quite strong, and I have nursed the sick often 
and often. And I will not take the fever, for I have had it 
once in Mexico, and learned there how to nurse it. Ma- 
dame Jean can spare me part of the day, and at night. I 
am a capital hand to sit up. 

She did not rest until she had carried her point. That 
night, she was installed in a room in Factory Row as nurse 
to cross Nell Barnes.-'^ 


END OF FIEST HALF. 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 




THE BEST 

fasMiis CoDipnii 

EVER INVENTED. 

"No Lady, Married or Sin- 
gle, Rich, or Poor, House- 
keeping or Boarding, -wiH 
be without it after testing 
its utility. 

Sold by all first -clasa 
Grocers, but beware of 
worthless imitations. 




GLUTEN SUPPOSITORIES 


CURE C01\SXIPATI0i\ A]\» PIUES. 

60 Cents by Mail. Circulars Free. 

HEALTH FOOD CO., 

4tli Avenue and lOtU St., IV. Y. 


CANDY 


CANDY 


Send $1, $2, $3 or $5 for a sample retail box by 
Express, of 

THE BEST CAHDIES IN AMERICA, 

put lip in elegant boxes, and strictly pure. Suit- 
able for presents. Express charges light. Refer 
to all Chicago. Try it once. 

If preferred, fine candy at 25c., 40c., and 60c. 
per pound; the best in the land for the 
money. Address 

C. F. OFI^XHKR, 

Confectioner, 

CHICAGO. 


WHAT IS SAPOLIO? 


It is a solid, 
handsome cake 
of scouring soap, 
which has no 

q lie'll for all cleaning purposes except the laundry. To use it is to value it. 

What will Sapolio do? Why, it will clean paint, make oil-cloths bright, and 
give the floors, tables and shelves a new appearance. 

It will take the grease off the dishes and off the pots and pans. 

Yott can scour the knives and forks with it, and make the tin things shine 
brightly. The wash-liasin, the bath-tub, even the greasy kitchen sink, wild 
be as clean as a new pin if you use SAPOLIO. One cake will prove al^ 
we say. Be a clever little hi'usekeeper and try it. 

BEWARE OF IMITATIONS 


NEW TABERNACLE SERMONS 

BY 

{II T. Dewitt TALMjlGE, DJi 


Bandsomely BoMd in ClotL 12mo. Price $1.00. 


The latest of Dr. Talmage's sermons have not yet been 
lented in book form. They have appeared weekly In The Ke’S; 
ITork Fireside Companion, and are now 

Pubiislied for tie First Time in Book Form, 

THE PRICE OP WHICH IS WITHIN THE REACH OP AI*U 

EacI Mne will Goati Tliifty Semona 

PRINTED IN 

CLEAR, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE, 

AND WILL MAKE 

4N ELEGANT AND ACCEPTABLE HOLIDAY GIFT 
The above will be sent postpaid on receipt of price, $1.00^ 
Address 

GEORaE MUNRO, Publisher. 


O. Box ST®. 


17 f «7 Vaijfi«wai*ir Street. tfovttr 


MUNRO'S PUBLICATIONS. 


The Seaside Library-Pocket Edition, 


Perscms who wisli to purchase the following works in complete and un- 
abridged form are cautioned to order and see tljat they get The Seaside 
Library, Pocket Edition, as works published in other Libraries are fre- 
quently abridged and incomplete. Every number of The Seaside Library 
is unchanged and unabridged. 

Newsdealers wishing Catalogues of The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, 
bearing their imprint, will be supplied on sending their names, addresses, 
and number required. 

The works in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, are printed from 
larger type and on better paper than any other series published. 

The following works are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to 
any address, postage free, on receipt of price, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, lYlunro’s Piiblishiugr House* 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y. 

[When ordering by mail please order by nulhbers.'] 


.^•VAtliors’ List- 


Works by the author of “ Addie’s 
Husband.” 

388 Addie’s Husband ; or, Through 


Clouds to Sunshine 10 

504 My Poor Wife 10 

Works by the author of “A Fatal 
Dower.” 

246 A Fatal Dower 10 

372 Phyllis’ Probation 10 

461 His Wedded Wife 20 

Works by the author of “ A Great 
Mistake.” 

244 A Great Mistake 20 

588 Cherry 10 


Woman’s Love-Story.” 

322 A Woman’s Love-Story 10 

677 Griselda 2o 

Mrs. Alexander’s Works. 

5 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

17 The Wooing O’t 20 

62 The Executor 20 

J89 Valerie’s Fate 10 

229 Maid, Wife, or Widow? 10 

236 Which Shall it Be? 20 

389 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid... 10 

490 A Second Life 20 

564 At Bay 10 

794 Beaton’s Bargain 20 

797 Look Before You Leap 20 

805 The Freres. 1st half 20 

805 The Freres. 2d half 20 


Alison’s Works. 

194 “ So Near, and Yet So Far !” . . . 10 
278 For Life and Love 10 


F. Aiistey’s Works. 

59 Vice Versa 20 

.225 The Giant’s Robe ^ 

503 The Tinted Venus. A Farcical 

Romance 10 

R. M. Ballantyue’s Works. 

89 The Red Eric 10 

95 The Fire Brigade 10 

96 Erling the Bold 10 

772 Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood 

Trader... 20 

Anne Beale’s Works. 

188 Idonea 20 

199 The Fisher Village 10 

Basil’s Works. 

344 “ The Wearing of the Green ” . . 20 

547 A Coquette’s Conquest 20 

585 A Drawn Game 20 

M. Betham-Ed wards’s Work?: 

273 Love and Mirage; or, The Wait- 
ing on an Island 10 

579 The Flower of Doom, and Other 

Stories 10 

594 Doctor Jacob 20 

Walter Besant’s Works. 

97 All in a Garden Fair 20 

137 Uncle Jack 10 

140 A Glorious Fortune 10 

146 Love Finds the Way, and Other 

Stories. By Besant and Rice 10 

230 Do)-othy Forster 20 

324 In Luck at Last 10 

541 Uncle Jack 10 

651 Self or Bearer” 10 


481 The House That Jack Built . . 10 


THE 8EASJBE LIBRARY.— roclcei Edition. 


William Biack’vS Works. 


1 Yolande..., 20 

18 Shandon Bells 20 

21 Sunrise : A Story of These 

Times 20 

23 A Princess of Thule 20 

39 In Silk Attire 20 

41 Macleod of Dare • 20 

49 That Beautiful Wretch. 20 

50 The Strauge Adventures of a 

Phaeton... 20 

70 White Wings; A YacliMng Ro- 
mance 10 

78 Madcap Violet 20 

81 A Daughter of Heth 20 

124 Three Feathers 20 

125 The Monarch of Mincing Lane. 20 

126 Kilmeny 20 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 20 
265 Judith Shakespeare : Her Love 

Affairs and Other Adventures 20 
472 The Wise Women of Inverness. 10 
627 White Heather. 20 


R. JD. Blackmore’s Works. 

67 Lorna Doone. 1st half 20 

67 Lorna Doone. 2d half 20 

427 The Remarkable History of Sir 

Thomas Upmore, Bart., j\[. P. 20 

SI 5 Mary Anerley 20 

625 Erema; or, My Father’s Sin. . . 20 

629 Cripps, the Carrier 20 

630 Cradock Nowell. First half.,. 20 

630 Cradock Nowell. Second half. 20 

631 Christowell. A Dartmoor Tale 20 

632 c lara Vaughan 20 

633 The IMaid of Sker. First half. . 20 
633 The Maid of Sker. Second half 20 
636 Alice Lorraine. First half..... 20 
636 Alice Lorraine. Second half.. 20 


Miss M. E. Bracldon’s Works. 


35 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

56 Phantom Fortune 20 

74 Aurora Floyd 20 

no Under the Red Flag 10 

153 The Golden Calf 20 

204 Vixen 20 

211 The Octoroon 10 

2^14 Barbara ; or, Splendid Misery. . 20 
263 An Ishmaelite 20 


315 The Mistletoe Bough. Edited 

by Miss Braddon 

484 Wyllard’s Weird 

478 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. Part I 

478 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. Part II 

480 Married in Hastf. Edited by 
Miss M. E, Braddon 

487 Put to the Test. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 

488 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter, 

489 Rupert Godwin 

495 Mount Royal 


496 Only a Woman. Edited by M iss 

M.E. Braddon. 20 

497 The Lady’s Mile . . 20 

498 Only a Clod 20 

499 The Cloven Foot . . 20 

5ll A Strange World 20 

515 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

524, Strangers and Pilgrims. ... 20 

529 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

542 Fenton’s Quest 20 

544 Cut by the County; or, Grace 

Darnel 10 

548 The Fatal Marriage, and The 

Shadow in the Corner. ... 10 

549 Dudley Carleon; or, The Broth- 

er’s Secret, and George Caul- 
field’s Journey 10 

552 Hostages to Fortune 20 

553 Birds of Prey . 20 

554 Charlotte’s Inheritance. (Se- 

quel to “ Birds of Prey ”) 2C 

557 To the Bitter End 20 

559 Taken at the Flood.. 20 

560 Asphodel 20 

561 Just as I am ; or, A Living Lie 20 

567 Dead Men’s Shoes. . 20 

570 John Marchmont’s Legacy. ... 20 
618 The Mistletoe Bough, (jhrist- 

mas, 18S.\ Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 


Works by Charlotte JI. Braemoy 
Author of “Dora Thorne.” 

19 Her Mother’s Sin 1(! 

51 Dora Thorne 20 

54 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

68 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

69 Madolin’s Lover. 20 

73 Redeemed b}" Love 20 

76 Wife in Name Only 20 

79 Wedded and Parted. 10 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice 10 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms . . 10 

190 Romance of a Black Veil 10 

220 Which Loved Him Best?. 10 

237 Repented at Leisure 20 

249 “ Prince Charlie’s Daughter ” . . 10 

250 Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 

ana’s Discipline 10 

254 The Wife’s Secret, and Fair 

but False — 10 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime 10 

287 At War With Herself 10 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight.... . 10 

291 Love’s Warfare 10 

292 A Golden Heart 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

294 Hilda 10 

295 A Woman’s War 10 

296 A Rose in Thorns 10 

297 Hilary’s Folly 10 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea 10 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 


20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 


Love 10 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit 

Ur than Death 10 




THE SEASIDE LIBH ART. — Pocket Edition, 


Works by Charlotte M. Braeme— 
Coutiuiied. 


804 lu Cupid’s Net 10 

305 A Dead Heart, and Lady Gwen- 

doline’s Dream 10 

306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for 

a Day 10 

807 Two Kisses, and Like no Other 

Love 10 

308 Beyond Pardon 20 

411 A Bitter Atonement 20 

433 My Sister Kate 10 

459 A Woman’s Temptation 20 

460 Under a Shadow 20 

465 The Earl’s Atonement 20 

466 Between Two Loves. ... .... 20 

467 A Struggle for a Ring — 20 

469 Lady Darner’s Secret 20 

470 Evelyn’s Folly 20 

471 Thrown on the World 20 

476 Between Two Sins. 10 

616 Put Asunder; or, Lady Castle- 

maine’s Divorce 20 

576 Her Martyrdom . 20 

626 A Fair Mystery 20 

741 The Heiress of Hilldrop; or. 
The Romance of a Young 

Girl 20 

745 For Another’s Sin ; or, A Strug- 
gle for Love 20 

792 Set in Diamonds 20 


Charlotte Bronte’s Works. 


15 Jane Eyre 20 

57 Shirley 20 


lihoda Broughton’s Works. 

86 Belinda 20 

101 Second Thoughts 20 

227 Nancy 20 

645 Mrs. Smith of Longmains 10 

758 “’Good-bye, Sweetheart 1” 20 

765 Not Wisely, But Too Well 20 

767 Joan 20 

768 Red as a Rose is She 20 

769 Cometh Up as a Flower 20 


Robert Buchanan’s Works. 

145 “ Storm-Beaten God and The 


Man 20 

154 Annan Water 20 

181 The New Abelard 10 

898 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan 10 

646 The Master of the Mine 20 


Hall Caine’s Works. 

445 The Shadow of a Crime ....... 20 

520 She’s All the World to Me 10 

Ross. Nouchette Carey’s Works. 

215 Not Like Other Girls 20 

396 Robert Ord’s Atonement 20 

551 Barbara Heathcote’s Trial 20 

608 For Lilias 20 

Lewis Carroll’s Works. 

462 Alice’s Adventures in Wonder- 
land. Illustrated b}" John 

Tenniel 20 

789 Through the Looking-Glass, 
and What Alice Found There. 
Illustrated by John Tenniel. . 20 


Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron’s Works. 


595 A North Country Maid 20 

796 In a Grass Country 20 

Wilkie Collins’s Works. 

52 The New Magdalen 10 

102 The Moonstone 20 

lO? Heart and Science 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 10 

175 Love’s Random Shot, and Other 

Stories 10 

233 “ I Say No;” or, The Love-Let- 
ter Answered 20 

508 The Girl at the Gate 10 

591 The Queen of Hearts 20 

613 The Ghost’s Touch, and Percy 

and the Prophet 10 

623 My Lady’s Monev 10 

701 Tlie Woman in White. 1st half 20 

701 The Woman in White. 2d half 2Q 

702 Man and Wife. 1st half. 20 

702 Man and Wife. 2d half 20 

764 The Evil Genius 20 

Hugh Conway’s Works. 

240 Called Back 10 

251 Tlie Daughter of the Stars, and 

Other Tales 10 

301 Dark Days 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest 10 

502 Carriston’s Gift 10 

525 Paul Vargas, and Other Stories 10 

543 A Family Affair 20 

601 Slings and Arrows, and Other 

Stories 10 

711 A Cardinal Sin 20 

804 Living or Dead 20 


Captain Fred Burnaby’s Works. 

875 A Ride to Khiva 20 

884 On Horseback Through Asia 

Minor 20 


E. Fairfax Byrrno’s Works. 

521 Entangled 20 359 The Water-Witch 

^38 A Fair Countrv Maid 20 I 361 Ti:e Red Rover 


(3L 


J. Fenimore Cooper’s Works. 

60 The Last of the Mohicans 20 

63 The Spy 20 

309 The Pathfinder. 20 

810 The Prairie 20 

318 The Pioneers ; or. The Sources 

of the Susquehanna 20 

349 The Two Admirals 20 

20 

.. 20 


THE SEASIDE TABU ARY. —Pocket Ed;uion. 


J. Feniiiiore Cooper’s Works— 
Coiitiuued. 


373 and Wing’ 20 

378 Homeward Bound; or, The 

Chase 20 

379 Home as Found. (Sequel to 

“ Homeward Bound”) 20 

380 Wyandotte; or, The Hutted 

Knoll 20 

885 The Headsman; or, The Ab- 

baye des Vignerons 20 

394 The Bravo 20 

397 Lionel Lincoln; or, The Leag- 
uer of Boston 20 

400 The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish. . . 20 

413 Afloat and Ashore 20 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 

“Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

415 The Ways of the Hour 20 

416 Jack Tier; or, The Florida Reef 20 

419 TheChainbearer; or,The Little- 

page Manuscripts 20 

420 Satanstoe; or. The Littlepage 

Manuscripts 20 

421 The Redskins; or, Indian and 

Injin. Being the conclusion 
of the Littlepage Manuscripts 20 

422 Precaution 20 

423 The Sea Lions; or. The Lost 

Sealers 20 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or, The 

Voyage to Cathay 20 

425 The Oak-Openings ; or. The Bee- 

Hunter 20 

431 The Monikins 20 


91 BaruabyRudge. 2d half 

94 Little Dorrit. First half 

94 Little Dorrit. Second half 

106 Bleak House. First half , 

106 Bleak House. Second half..,. 

107 Dombey and Son. 1st half 

107 Dombey and Sou. 2d half 

108 The Cricket on the Hearth, and 

Doctor Marigold 

131 Our Mutual Friend. (1st half). 

131 Our Mutual Friend. (2d half).. 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock 

152 The Uncommercial Traveler. . . 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 

169 The Haunted Man 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 

Chuzzlewit. First half 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 
Chuzzlewit. Second half 

439 Great Expectations 

440 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings 

447 American Notes. 

448 Pictures From Italy, and The 

Mudfog Papers, &c 

454 The Mystery of Edwin Drood.. 
456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative 
of Every-day Life and Every- 
day People 

676 A Child’s History of England . 

8arah Doudney’s Works. 

338 The Family Difficulty 

679 Where Two Ways Meet 


Georgiana M. Craik’s Works. 


450 Godfrey Helstone 20 

606 Mrs. Hollyer 20 

B. M. Croker’s Works, 

207 Pretty Miss Neville 20 

260 Proper Pride 10 

412 Some One Else .*j . 20 

31ay Orommelin’s Works. 

452 In the West Coimtrie 20 

619 Joy; or, The Light of Cold- 

Home Ford 20 

647 Goblin Gold 10 

Aiplionse Baudet’s Works. 

J34 Jack 20 

574 The Nabob: A Story of Parisian 

Life and Manners 20 

Charles Dickens’s Works. 

10 The Old Curiosity Shop 20 

22 David Copperfield. Vol. 1 20 

22 David Copperfield. Vol. II.... 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Vol. 1 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Vol. II 20 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. First half. 20 
37 Nicholas Nickleby. Second half 20 

41 Oliver Twist 20 

77 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

84 Hard Times 10 

91 Barnaby Rudge. 1st half 20 


F. Du Boisgokey’s Works. 

82 Sealed Lips 

104 The Coral Pin. 1st half 

i04 The Coral Pin. 2d half 

264 Pi^douche, a French Detective. 
328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 

First half 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 

Second half 

453 The Lottery Ticket 

475 The Prima Donna’s Husband. . 

522 Zig-Zag, the Clow* ; or. The 

Steel Gauntlets 

523 The Consequences of a Duel. A 

Parisian Romance... 

648 The Angel of the Bells 

697 The Pretty Jailer. 1st half 

697 The Pretty Jailer. 2d half 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. 1st 

half 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. 2d. 

half 

782 The Closed Door. 1st half 

782 The Closed Door. 2d half 

“The Duchess’s” Works. 

2 Molly Bawn 

6 Portia 

14 Airy Faiiy Lilian 

16 Phyllis 

25 Mrs. Geoffrey 

29 Beauty’s Daughters 

30 Faith and Unfaith 


8588S88 gSS 8 8888 8 888 8 S888 SS 88 88 8S88 8 SS 8S88S gSggggg 


TEE SEASIDE LIBRA BY. --Pocket Edition, 


“ The Duchess’S ” WorRs— Con- 
tinued. 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford, and 

Eric Bering 10 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d. .. 10 

123 Sweet is True Love 10 

129 Rossmoyne 10 

134 The Witching Hour, and Other 

Stories 10 

136 “That Last Rehearsal,” and 

Other Stories 10 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites.... 10 
171 Fortune’s Wheel, and Other 

Stories 10 

284 Doris 10 

312 A Week in Killarney; or, Her 

Week’s Amusement 10 

342 The Baby. — One New Year’s Eve 10 

390 Mildred Trevauion 10 

404 In Durance Vile, and Other 

Stories 10 

486 Dick’s Sweetheart 20 

494 A Maiden All Forlorn, and Bar- 
bara 10 

517 A Passive Crime, and Other 

Stories 10 

541 “ As It Fell Upon a Day.” 10 

733 Lady Branksmere 20 

771 A Mental Struggle 20 

785 The Haunted Chamber 10 


Alexander Dumas’s Works. 

55 The Three Guardsmen 20 

75 Twenty Years After 20 

259 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. A 
Sequel to “The Count of 

Monte-Cristo ” 10 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Part 1 20 

262 The Count of Mo te Cristo. 

Part II 20 

717 Beau Tancrede; or. The Mar- 
riage Verdict 20 

Maria Edgeworth’s Works. 

708 Ormond 20 

7^ The Absentee. An Irish Stoiy. 20 

George Eliot’s Works. 

3 The Mill on the Floss 20 

31 Middlemarch. 1st half 20 

31 Middlemarch. 2d half 20 

34 Daniel Deronda. 1st half 20 

34 Daniel Deronda. 2d half 20 

36 Adam Bede 20 

42 Romola 20 

693 Felix Holt, the Radical 20 

707 Silas Marner: The Weaver of 

Raveloe 10 

728 Janet’s Repentance 10 

762 Impressions of Theophrastus 
Such 10 

B. Ii. Far jeon’ 8 Works. 

179 Little Make-Believe 10 

573 Love’s Harvest *0 

607 Self-Doomed 10 

616 The Sacred Nugget . . 20 

657 Christmas Angel.. 10 


G. Mauville Fenn’s Works, 

193 The Rosery Folk lO 

558 Poverty Corner 20 

587 The Parson o’ Dumford 26 

609 The Dark House. . 10 

Octave Feuillet’s Works, 

66 The Romance of a Poor Young 

Man 10 

386 Led Astray; or, “La Petite 
Comtesse ” id 


Mrs. Forres&or’s Works. 

80 June 2d 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 
ciety 10 

484 Although He Was a Lord, and 

Other Tales 10 

715 I Have Lived and Loved 20 

721 Dolores 20 

724 My Lord and My Lady ^ 

726 My Hero 20 

727 Fair Women 20 

729 Mignon 20 

732 From Olympus to Hades 20 

734 Viva 20 

736 Roy and Viola 20 

740 Rhbna 20 

744 Diana Carew ; or, For a Wom- 
an’s Sake 20 


Jessie Fothergill’s Works. 

314 Peril 2t 

572 Healey 20 

B. E, Francillon’s Works. 

135 A Great Heiress: A Fortune 

in Seven Checks 10 

319 Face to Face: A Fact in Seven 

Fables 10 

360 Ropes of Sand 20 

656 The Golden Flood. By R. E. 
Francillon and Wm. Senior.. 10 

Emile Gaboriau’s Works. 

7 File No. 113 20 

12 Other People’s Money 20 

20 Within an Inch of His Life ^ 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol 1 2# 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol. H 29 

33 The Clique of Gold 10 

38 The Widow Lerouge 20 

43 The Mystery of Orcival 20 

144 Promises of Marriage 10 

Charles Gibbon’s Works. 

64 A Maiden Fair 10 

317 By Mead and Stream 20 


James Grant’s Works. 

566 The Royal Highlanders ; or. 
The Black Watch in Egypt... 20 
781 The Secret Dispatch 16 


TEE SEASIDE LIBUABY.— Pocket Edition, 


Miss Graut’s Works. 

362 The Sun-Maid 20 

555 Cara Roma 20 

Arthur Griffiths’s Works. 

614 No. 99 10 

660 Fast and Loose 2® 

H. Rider Haffgrard’s Works. 

432 The Witclrs Head 20 

T53 King Solomon’s Mines 20 

TThoiiias Hardy’s Works. 

139 The Romantic Adventures of 

a Milkmaid 10 

530 A Pair of Blue Eyes 20 

690 Far From the Maddintr Crowd. 20 
791 The Mayor of Casterbrfdge 20 

John B« Harwood’s Works. 

143 One False, Both Fair 20 

358 Within the Clasp 20 

Mary Cecil Hay’s Works. 

65 Back to the Old Home 10 

72 Old Myddelton’s Money 20 

196 Hidden Perils 10 

197 For Her Dear Sake 20 

224 The Arundel Motto 20 

281 The Squire’s Legacy *0 

290 Nora’s Love Test 20 

408 Lester’s Secret 20 

678 Dorothy’s Venture 20 

716 Victor and Vanquished 20 

_ Mrs. Cashel-Hoey’s Works. 

313 The Lover's Creed 20 

802 A Stern Chase 20 

Tighe Hopkius’s Works. 

609 Nell Haffenden 20 

'J14 ’Twixt Love and Duty 20 

Works by the Author of Judith 
Wynue.” 

332 Judith Wynne 20 

506 Lady Lovelace 20 

William H, G. Kingston’s Works. 

117 A Tale of the Shore and Ocean. 20 

133 Peter the Whaler 10 

761 Will Weatherhelm 20 

763 The Midshipman, Marmaduke 
Merry 20 

Charles Lever’s Works. 

191 Harry Lorrequer 20 

S12 Charies O’Malley, the Irish Dra- 
goon. First half 20 

312 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dra- 
goon. Second half 20 

S46 Tom Burke of “Ours.” First 

half 20 

S43 Tom Burke of “Ours.” Sec- 
ond half, 20 


Mary Linskill’s Works. 

473 A Lost Son 35 

620 Between the Heather and the 

Northern Sea 30 

8ainuel Lover’s Works. 

663 Handy Andy 26 

664 Rory O’More 3f 

Sir E, Bulwer Lytton’s Works. 

40 The Last Days of Pompeii 20 , 

83 A Strange Story 20 

90 Ernest Maltravers 20 

130 The Last of the Barons. First 

half 20 

130 The Last of the Barons. Sec- 
ond half 20 

162 Eugene Aram 2f 

164 Leila; or, The Siege of Grenada 10 
650 Alice; or, The M3 steries. (A Se- 
quel to “ Ernest Maltravers ”) 20 
720 Paul Clifford 20 

George Macdonald’s Works. 

282 Donal Grant - 20 

325 The Portent 10 

326 Phantasies. A Faerie Romance 

for Men and Women 10 

722 What’s Mine’s Mine 20 

Florence Marry at’ s Works. 

159 A Moment of Madness, and 

Other Stories 10 

183 Old Contrairy, and Other 

Stories 10 

208 The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, 

and Other Stories 10 

276 tinder the Lilies and Roses 10 

444 The Heart of Jane Warner 20 

449 Peeress and Player 20 

689 The Heir Presumptive 2# 

Captain Marryat’s Works. 

88 The Privateersman 20 

272 The Little Savage 10 

Helen B. Mathers’s Works. 

13 Eyre’s Acquittal 10 

221 Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye 20 

438 Found Out 10 

535 Murder or Manslaughter? 10 

673 Story of a Sin 20 

713 “ Clierry Ripe ” 20 

795 Sam’s Sweetheart 90 

798 Fashion of this World 16 

799 My Lady Green Sleeves 30 

Justin McCarthy’s WorLs. 

121 Maid of Athens 86 

602 Camiola 20 

685 England Under Gladstone. 

1880—1885 20 

747 Our Sensation Novel. Edited 

by Justin H. McCarthy, M.P., 10 
779 Doom I An Atlantic Episode. . 1ft 


TRE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Pocket Edition, 


Mrs, Alex. McVeigh Miller’s 


Works. 

2t)7 Laurel Vane; or, The Girls’ 

Conspiracy 20 

268 Lady Gay’s Pride; or, The 

Miser’s Treasure 20 

269 Lancaster’s Choice 20 

316 Sworn to Silence; or, Aline 

Rodney’s Secret 20 


Jean Middleiiias’s Works. 

156 Lady Muriel’s Secret 20 

589 Silvermead 20 


Alan Muir’s Works. 

172 “Golden Girls” 20 

346 Tumbledown Farm 10 


Miss Mulock’s Works. 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman 20 

S45 Miss Tommy, and In a House- 

Boat 10 

808 King Arthur. Not a Love Story 20 

David Christie Murray’s Works. 

58 By the Gate of the Sea 10 

195 “ The Way of the World ” 20 

320 A Bit of Human Nature 10 

661 Rainbow Gold 20 

674 First Person Singular 20 

691 Valentine Strange 20 

695 Hearts: Queen, Knave, and 

Deuce 20 

698 A Life's Atonement .20 

737 Aunt Rachel 10 


Works by the author of “ My 
Ducats and My Daughter.” 

876 The Crime of Christmas Day. 10 
596 My Ducats and My Daughter. .. 20 


W. E. Norris’s Works. 

184 Thirl by Hall 20 

277 A Man of His Word 10 

3,55 That Terrible Man 10 

500 Adrian Vidal 20 

liuurence Oliphant’s Works. 

47 Altiora Peto 20 

637 Piccadilly 10 

Mrs. Oliphant’s Works. 

45 A Little Pilgrim 10 

177 Salem Chapel 20 

205 The Minister’s Wife 30 

821 The Prodigals, and Their In- 
heritance 10 


337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 
Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
including some Chronicles of 

the Borough of Fendie 

845 Madam 

861 The House ou the Moor 


357 John 211 

370 Lucy Crofton 16 

371 Margaret Maitland 20 

377 Magdalen Hepburn : A Story of 

the Scottish Reformation 20 

402 Lilliesleaf ; or, Passages in the 
Life of Mrs Margaret Mait- 
land of Sunnyside 20 

410 Old Lady Mary 10 

527 The Davs of My Life 20 

528 At His Gates 20 

568 The Perpetual Curate 20 

569 Harry Muir 20 

603 Agnes. 1st half i . , . 20 

603 Agnes. 2d half 20 

OO-i Innocent. 1st half 20 

604 Innocent. 2d half 20 

605 Ombra 20 

645 Oliver’s Bride 10 

655 The Open Door, and The Por- 
trait 10 

687 A Country Gentleman 20 

703 A House Divided Against Itself 20 
710 The Greatest Heiress in England 20 


“ Ouida’s ” Works. 


4 Under Two Flags 20 

9 Wanda, Countess von Szalras.. 20 

116 Moths 20 

128 Afternoon and Other Sketches. 10 

226 Friendship 20 

•228 Princess Napraxine 20 

238 Pascarel 20 

239 Signa.. 20 

433 A Rainy June 10 

639 Othmar 20 

671 Don Gesualdo 10 

672 In Maremrba. First half 2f 

672 In Maremma. Second half 24 

James Payn’s Works. 

48 Thicker Than Water 20 

186 The Canon’s Ward 20 

343 The Talk of the Town 20 

577 In Peril and Privation 10 

589 The Luck of the Darrells 20 

Miss Jane Porter’s Works. 

660 The Scottish Chiefs. 1st half.. 20 
660 The Scottish Chiefs. 2d half.. 20 
696 Thaddeus of Warsaw 20 

Cecil Power’s Works. 

336 Philistia 20 

611 Babylon 20 

Mrs. Campbell Praed’s Works. 

428 Zero: A Story of Monts-Carlo. 10 
477 Affinities 10 


Eleanor C. Price’s Works. 

20 173 The Foreigners 20 

20 i 331 Gerald 20 


THE SEASIDE LlBRAltT.— Pocket Edition. 


Miscellaneous— C’oiitiulied. 


103 Rose Fleming. Dora Russell.. 10 
105 A Noble Wife. John Saunders 20 

111 The Little School-master Mark. 

J. H. Shorthouse 10 

112 The Waters of Marah. John 

Hill 20 

113 Mrs. Carr’s Companion. M. G. 

Wightwick 10 

114 Some of Our Girls. Mrs. C. J. 

Eiloart 20 

115 Diamond Cut Diamond. T. 

Adolphus Trollope 10 

120 Tom Brown’s School Days at 

Rugby. Thomas Huglies 20 

122 lone Stewart. Mrs. E. Lynn 
Linton 20 

127 Adrian Bright. Mrs. Caddy 20 

149 The-Captain’s Daughter. From 

the Russian of Pushkin 10 

151 The Ducie Diamonds. C. Blath- 

erwick 10 

156 “For a Dream’s Sake.” Mrs. 

Herbert Martin 20 

158 The Starling. Norman Mac- 
leod, D.D 10 

160 Her Gentle Deeds. Sarah Tyt- 

ler 10 

161 The Lady of Lyons. Founded 

on the Play of that title by 

Lord Lytton 10 

163 Winifred Power. Joyce Dar- 
rell 20 

170 A Great Treason. Mary Hop- 

pus 30 

174 Under a Ban. Mrs. Lodge 20 

176 An April Day. Philippa Prit- 

tie Jephson 10 

178 More Leaves from the Journal 
of a Life in the Highlands. 

Queen Victoria 10 

182 The Millionaire 20 

185 Dita. Lady Margaret Majendie 10 
187 The Midnight Sun. Fredrika 
Bremer 10 

198 A Husband’s Story 10 

203 John Bull and His Island. Max 

O’Rell 10 


218 Agnes Sorel. G. P. R. James.. 20 

219 Lady Clare : or, The Master of 

the Forges. Georges Ohnet 10 
242 The Two Orphans. D’Ennery. 10 
253 The Amazon. Carl Vosmaer. . 10 
257 Beyond Recall. Adeline Ser- 
geant 10 

266 The Water-Babies. Rev. Chas. 

Kingsley 10 

274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 
Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland. Biographical Sketch 

and Letters 10 

279 Little Goldie : A Story of Wom- 
an’s Love. Mrs. Sumner Hay- 
den 20 

285 The Gambler’s Wife 20 

jK9 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 
True Light. A “ Brutal Sax- 
on” .... 10 


311 Two Years Before the Mast. R. 

H. Dana, Jr 20 

323 A Willful Maid 20 

329 The Polish Jew. (Translated 

from the French by Caroline 
A. Merighi.) Erckmann-Chat- 
rian 10 

330 May Blossom ; or, Between Two 

Loves. Margaret Lee 20 

334 A Marriage of Convenience. 

Harriett Jay 10 

335 The White Witch 20 

340 Under Which King? Compton 

Reade 20 

341 Madolin Rivers; or, The Little 

Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

Laura Jean Libbey ‘. . 20 

347 As Avon Flows. Henry Scott 

Vince 20 

350 Diana of the Crossways. George 
Meredith 10 

352 At Any Cost Edward Garrett. 10 

354 The Lottery of Life. A Story 

of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. John Brougham 20 

355 The Princess Dagomar of Po- 

land. Heinrich Felbermann. 10 

356 A Good Hater. Frederick Boyle 20 
365 George Christy; or. The Fort- 


unes of a Minstrel. Tony 

Pastor 20 

366 The Mysterious Hunter; or. 
The Man of Death. Capt. L. 

C. Carleton 20 

369 Miss Bretherton. Mrs. Hum- 
phry Ward 10 

374 The Dead Man’s Secret. Dr. 

Jupiter Paeon 20 

381 The Red Cardinal. Frances 

Elliot 10 

382 Three Sisters. Elsa D’Esterre- 

Keeling 10 

383 Introduced to Society. Hamil- 

ton AYd6 10 

387 The Secret of the Cliffs. Char- 
lotte French 20 

389 Ichabod. A Portrait. Bertha 

Thomas 10 

399 Miss Brown, Vernon Lee 20 

403 An English Squire. C. R. (Dole- 

ridge 2d 

406 The Merchant’s Clerk. Samuel 

Warren 10 

407 Tylney Hall. Thomas Hood. . . 20 
426 Venus’s Doves. Ida Ashworth 

Taylor 20 

430 A Bitter Reckoning. Author 

of “By Crooked Paths ” 10 

435 Klytia: A Story of Heidelberg 

Castle. George Taylor 20 

436 Stella. Fanny Lewald 20 

441 A Sea Change. Flora L. Shaw. 20 

442 Ranthorpe. George Henry 

Lewes 20 

443 The Bachelor of the Albany... 10 
457 The Russians at the Gates of 

Herat. Charles Marvin 10 


f t 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. -Pocket Edition. 


46S A Week ©f Passion; or. The 
Dilemma of Mr. Georgre Bar- 


ton the Younger. Edward 

Jenkins 20 

468 The Fortunes, Good and Bad, 
of a Sewing-Girl. Charlotte 

M. Stanley 10 

474 Serapis. An Historical Novel. 

George Ebers 20 

479 Louisa. Katharine S. Macquoid 20 
483 Betwixt My Love and Me. By 

author of ‘ ■ A Golden Bar ”... 10 
485 Tinted Vapours. J. Maclaren 

Cobban 10 

491 Society in London. A Foreign 

Resident.. 10 

493 Colonel Enderby’s Wife. Lucas 

Malet 20 

501 Mr. Butler’s Ward. F. Mabel 

Robinson 20 

504 Curly: An Actor’s Story. John 

Coleman 10 

505 The Society of London. Count 

Paul Vasili 10 

510 A Mad Love. Author of “ Lover 

and Lord” 10 

512 The Waters of Hercules 20 

518 The Hidden Sin 20 

519 James Gordon’s Wife 20 

526 Madame De Presnel. E. Fran- 
ces Poynter 20 

532 Arden Court. Barbara Graham 20 

583 Hazel Kirke, Marie Walsh 20 

536 Dissolving Views. Mrs. Andrew 
Lang. 10 

545 Vida’s Story. By the author of 

“ Guilty Without Crime ”.... 10 

546 Mrs. Keith’s Crime. A Novel . . 10 

571 Paul Crew’s Story. Alice Co- 
rny ns Carr 10 

575 The Finger of Fate. Captain 
Mayne Reid 20 

581 The Betrothed. (I Promessi 

Sposi.) Allessandro Manzoni 20 

582 Lucia, Hugh and Another. Mrs. 

J. H. Needed 20 

583 Victory Deane. Cecil Griffith . . 20 

584 Mixed Motives 10 

599 Lancelot Ward, M.P. George 

Temple 10 

612 My Wife’s Niece. By the author 

of “ Dr. Edith Romney ” 20 

624 Primus in Indis. M. J. Colqu- 

houn 10 

628 Wedded Hands. By the author 

of “ My Lady’s Folly ” 20 

684 The Unforeseen. Alice O’Han- 
lon 20 

641 The Rabbi’s Spell. Stuart C. 
Cumberland 10 

643 The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey 

Crayon, Gent. Washington 
Irving 20 

644 A Girton Girl. Mrs. Annie Ed- 

wards 20 

652 The Lady with the Rubies. E. 

Marlitt 20 

654 “ Us.” An Old-fashioned Story, 
JVlrs. Moles worth 10 


662 The Mystery of Allan Grale. 
Isabella Fyvie Mayo 26 

668 Half-Way. An Anglo-French 

Romance 20 

669 The Philosonhy of Whist. 

William Pole 20 


675 Mrs. Dymond. Miss Thackeray 20 
681 A Singer’s Story. May Laffan. 10 

683 The Bachelor Vicar of New- 

forth. Mrs. J. Harcourt-Roe. 20 

684 Last Days at Apswich 10 

692 The Mikado, and Other Comic 

Operas. Written by W. S. 
Gilbert. Composed by Arthur 

Sullivan 20 

705 The Woman I Loved, and the 
Woman Who Loved Me. Isa 
Blagden 10 


706 A Crimson Stain. Annie Brad- 
shaw 10 

712 For Maimie’s Sake. Grant 
Allen 20 

718 Unfairly Won. Mrs. Power 

O’Donoghue 20 

719 Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. 

Lord Byron 10 

723 Mauleverer’s Millions. T. We- 
myss Reid 20 

725 My Ten Y^ears’ Imprisonment. 

Silvio Pellico 10 

730 The Autobiography of Benja- 
min Franklin 10 


731 The Bayou Bride. Mrs. Mary E. 

Biyan 20 

735 Until the Day Breaks. Emily 

Spender 20 

738 In the Golden Days. Edna 
Lyall 20 

748 Hurrish: A Study. By the 

Hon. Emily Lawless. 20 

749 Lord Vanecourt’s Daughter. 

Mabel Collins 20 


750 An Old Story of My Farming 
Days. Fritz Reuter. 1st half 20 
750 An Old Story of My Farming 

Days. Fritz Reuter. 2d half 20 


752 Jackanapes, and Other Stories. 
Juliana Horatia Ewing 10 

754 How to be Happy Though Mar- 

ried. By a Graduate in the 
University of Matrimony 20 

755 Margery Daw 20 

756 The Strange Adventures of Cap- 

tain Dangerous. A Narrative 
in Plain English. Attempted 
by George Augustus Sala 20 


757 Love’s Martyr. Laurence Alma 


Tadema 10 

759 In Shallow Waters. Annie Ar- 

mitt 20 


766 No. XIII; or. The Story of the 
Lost Vestal. Emma Mar- 


shall 10 

770 The Castle of Otranto. Hor- 
ace Walpole 10 


TBE SEASIDE LIBRAB Y, — Pocket Edition, 


Misceiraneous— Continued. 

773 The Mark of Cain. Andrew 

Langr 10 

774 The Life and Travels of I\Iungo 

Park 10 

776 P6re Goriot. Honors be Bal- 
zac 20 

T77 The Vo.vages and Travels of 
of Sir John Maundeville, Kt.. 10 
778 Societ 3 ’’s Verdict. Bj’ the au- 
thor of “ Marriage ’’ 20 

786 Ethel Mildma^^’s Follies. B.y au- 

thor of “Petite’s Romance”. 20 

787 Court Roj^al. S. Bariug-Gould 20 


793 Vivian Grey. By the Rt. Hon. 
Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of 

Beaconsfield. First half 20 

793 Vivian Grey. By the Rt. Hon. 
Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of 
Beaconsfield. Second half. .. 20 
801 She Stoops to Conquer, and 
The Good-Natured Man. Oli- 
ver Goldsmith 10 

803 Major Frank. A. L. G. Bos- 

boom-Toussaint 20 

807 If Love Be Love. D. Cecil Gibbs 2$ 
809 Witness My Hand. By author 
of “ Lady Gwendolen’s Tryst ” 10 


Persons who wish to purchase the foregoing works in complete and un- 
abridged form are cautioned to order and see that they get The Seaside 
Library, Pocket Edition, as works published in other libraries are fre- 
quently abridged and incomplete. Every number of The Seaside Library 
is unchanged and unabridged. 

Newsdealers wishing catalogues of The Seaside Library, Pocket Edi 
tion, bearing their imprint, will be supplied on sending their narnes^ 
addresses, and number required. 

The works in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, are printed front 
larger type and on better paper than any other series published. 

The foregoing works are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to 
anj’^ address, postage free, on receipt of price, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing: House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York 

[When ordering by mail please order by number s.] 


Now Ready— Beautifully Bound in Cloth— Price 60 Cents. 


A NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION OF THAT MOST DELIGHTFUL OF 
CHILDREN’S STORIES, 

Alice’s Advei^tures iii Wonderland. 

By LEWIS CARROLL, 

Author of “ Through the Looking-Glass.” 

With Forty-two Beautiful Illustrations by John Tenniel. 

The most delicious and taking nonsense for children ever written. A 
book to be read by all mothers to their little ones. It makes thorti 
dance with delight. Everybody enjoys the fun of this charming writer 
for the nursery. 


THIS NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION, BOUND IN CLOTH, PRICE 60 CENTlj 
IS PRINTED IN LARGE, HANDSOME, READABLE TYPE, WITH 
ALL THE ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE EX- 
PENSIVE ENGLISH EDITION. 

^ent 1>y Iflail on Receipt oP 50 Cents, 

Address GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

P, O. Box 3761* to *^7 Vandewater Strept? New York, 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocket Edition. 


LATEST ISSUES: 


NO. PRICK. 

669 Pole on Whist 20 

815 Kalph Wilton’s Weird. By Mrs. 

Alexander 10 

816 Rogues and Vagabonds. By 

George R. Sims, author of 
“’Ostler Joe” 20 

817 Stabbed in the Dark. By Mrs. 

E. Lynn Linton 10 

818 Pluck. By John Strange Winter 10 

819 A Fallen Idol. By F. Anstey. . . 20 

820 Doris’s Fortune. By Florence 

Warden 10 

821 The World Between Them. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme, author 
of “ Dora Thorne.” 20 

822 A Passion Flower. A Novel 20 

823 The Heir of the Ages. By James 

Payn 20 

824 Her Own Doing. W. E. Norris 10 

825 The Master Passion. By Flor- 

ence Blarryat 20 

826 Cynic Fortune. By D. Christie 

Murray 20 

827 Effle Ogilvie. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

828 The Prettiest Woman in War- 

saw. By Mabel Collins 20 

829 The Actor’s Ward. By the au- 

thor of “ A Fatal Dower ”... 20 

830 Bound by a Spell. Hugh Con- 

way, author of “ Called Back ” 20 

831 Pomegranate Seed. By the au- 

thor of “ The Two Miss Flem- 
ings,” etc 20 

832 Kidnapped. By Robert Louis 

Stevenson 20 

833 Ticket No. “9672.” By Jules 

Verne. First half 10 

834 A Ballroom Repentance. By 

Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 

835 Vivian the Beauty. By Mrs. 

Annie Edwards 20 

836 A Point of Honor. By Mrs An- 

nie Edwards 20 

837 A Vagabond Heroine. By Mrs. 

Annie Edwards 10 

838 Ought We to Visit Her? By 

Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 

839 Leah: A Woman of Fashion. 

By Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 

840 One Thing Needful; or, The 

Penalty of Fate. By Miss 31. 

E. Braddon 20 

841 Jet: Her Face or Her Fortune? 

By Mrs. Annie Edwards 10 

842 A Blue-Stocking. By Mrs An- 

nie Edwards 10 


NO. PRICK. 

843 Archie Lovell. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards 20 

844 Susan Fielding. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards 20 

845 Philip Earnscliffe; or, The 

florals of May Fair. By Mrs. 
Annie Edwards 20 

847 Bad to Beat. By Hawley Smart 10 

848 My Friend Jim. By W. E. Norris 10 

849 A Wicked Girl. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

850 A Playwright’s Daughter. By 

3Irs. Annie Edwards 10 

851 The Cry of Blood. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. First half 20 

851 The Cry of Blood. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. Second half 20 

852 Under Five Lakes : or. The 

Cruise of the “Destroyer.” 

By M. Quad 20 

853 A True Magdalen. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

855 The Dynamiter. Robert Louis 

Stevenson and Fanny Van de 
Grifc Stevenson 20 

856 New Arabian Nights. By Rob- 

ert Louis Stevenson 20 

857 Kildee ; or, The Sphinx of the 

Red House. Mary E. Bryanv 
First half 20 

857 Kildee; or. The Sphinx of the 

Red House. Mary E. Bryan. 
Second half 20 

858 Old Ma’m’selle’s Secret. By E. 

Marlitt 20 

859 Ottilie: An Eighteenth Century 

Idyl. By Vernon Lee. The 
Prince of the 100 Soups. Ed- 
ited by Vernon Lee 20 

860 Her Lord and Master. By Flor- 

ence Marry at 20 

861 My Sister the Actress. By Flor- 

ence Marry at 20 

862 Ugly Barrington. By “ The 

Duchess.” Betty’s Visions. 

By Rhoda Broughton 10 

863 “ My Own Child. ” By Florence 

Marrj^at 20 

864 “ No Intentions.” By Florence 

Blarryat 20 

866 Miss Harrington’s Husband. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

867 The Girls of Feversham. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

875 Lady’ Valworth’s Diamonds. By 
“The Duchess” 20 


The foregoing works, contained in The Skasidk Library, Pocket Edition, 
are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on 
receipt of price. Parties ordering by mail will please order by numbers. Ad- 
dr0ss 

GEORGE MUNRO, 
iRUNRO’S PUBL.I8HI1SG HOUSE, 

p. p. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y, 


J'UST ISSUED. 


JUST ISSUED 


JPIIET CORSON’S 

NEW FAMILY COOK BOOK. 

BY MISS JULIET CORSON, 

Author of “Meals for the Million,” etc., etc. 
Superintendent op the New York School op Cookery. 


PRICE: HANESOHELY BOUITI) IIT CLOTH, $1.00. 

A COMPREHENSIVE COOK BOOK 

For Family Use in City and Country. 

CONTAINING 

PRACTICAL RECIPES AND FULL AND PLAIN DIREC- 
TIONS FOR COOKING ALL DISHES USED 
IN AMERICAN HOUSEHOLDS. 

The Best and Most Economical Methods of Cooking Meats, Fish, 
Vegetables, Sauces, Salads, Puddings and Pies. 

How to Prepare Relishes and Savory Accessories, Picked-up Dishes, 
Soups, Seasouing, Stuffing and Stews. 

How to Make Good Bread, Biscuit, Omelets, Jellies, Jams, Pan- 
cakes, Fritters and Fillets. 


Miss Corson is the best American writer on cooking. All of her recipes 
have been carefully tested in the New York School of Cookery. If her direc- 
tions are carefully followed there will be no failures and no reason for com- 
plaint. Her directions are always plain, very complete, and easily followed. 

Juliet Corson’s New Family Cook Book 

Is sold by all newsdealers. It will be sent, postpaid, on receipt of price i 
handsomely bound in cloth, $1.00. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, 

Munro’s Publishing House, 

P.O.Box 8751. 17 to 87 Vandewater St.. N. Y 


TRE NEW YORK FASHION BAZAR 


BOOK OF THE TOILET 

»S 4;F.WXI». 

THIS IS A LITTLE BOOK 

waicB 

WE CAN RECOMMEND TO EVERY LADV 

FOR TEB 

PBBSEETATION AND IKOEEASB OF HEALf H AND BBADTI 

IT CONTAINS FULL DIRECTIONS FOR ALL THE 

ARTS AND MYSTERIES OF PERSONAL DECORATION, 

AND FOB 

Increasing the Mural Graces of Form anfl Expression, 

ALL THE LITTI-E AFFECTIONS OF THE 

Slsin., iEIair, IB^res axid. 

THAT DETRACT FROM APPEARANCE AND HAPPINESS 

Are Hada the Swhjects of Precise and Excellent Eeeipes 

ladies Are Instructed How to Reduce Their Weigh! 

Without lujury to Health and Without Produoiiag 
Pallor and Weakaes??. 


HOTHHSTG HECBSSABT TO 

A COMPLETE TOILET BOOK OF RECIPES 

AN© 

VALUABLE ADVISE AND INFOUffiATION 
m SEEN OVERLOOKED IN THE COMPILATION OF THIS VOlUMI 

For sale by all Newsdealers, or sent to any address on receipt, of 2R 
?AO««taga prepaid, by the publisher. Address 

(BFIOROE MUNRO. Mimro’s Puhlisliiwsr 

S? to i’?' Vaaidewatay U % 


OLD SLEUTH LIBRARY, 

ISSUED MOIVXHUY. 


A Series of the Most Thrilling Detectiye Stories Ever Published 


NO. PRICE 

1 Old Sleuth the Detective 10c 

2 The King of the Detectives 10c 

3 Old Sleuth’s Triumph. First Mlf. 10c 

3 Old Sleuth’s Triumph. Second half. 10c 

4 Under a Million Disguises 10c 

5 Night Scenes in New York 10c 

6 Old Electricity, the Lightning Detective. 10c 

7 The Shadow Detective. First half 10c 

7 The Shadow Detective. Second half. 10c 

8 Red-Light Will, the River Detective 10c 

9 Iron Burgess, the Government Detective 10c 

10 The Brigands of New York 10c 

11 Tracked by a Ventriloquist 10c 

12 The Twin Detectives 10c 

13 The French Detective 10c 

14 Billy Wayne, the St. Louis Detective 10c 

15 The New York Detective 10c 

16 O’Neil McDarragh, the Irish Detective 10c 

17 Old Sleuth in Harness Again 10c 

18 The Lady Detective 10c 

19 The Yankee Detective 10c 

20 The Fastest Boy in New York lOc 

21 Black Raven, the Georgia Detective 10c 

22 Night-Hawk, the Mounted Detective 10c 

• 23 The Gypsy Detective 10c 

24 The Mysteries and Miseries of New York 10c 

25 Old Terrible 10c 

26 The Smugglers of New York Bay 10c 

27 Manfred, the Magic Trick Detective 10c 

28 Mura, the Western Lady Detective 10c 

' 29 Monsieur Armand ; or. The French Detective in New 

York 10c 

30 Lady Kate, the Dashing Female Detective. First half 10c 

30 Lady Kate, the Dashing Female Detective. Second half 10c 

31 Hamud, the Detective 10c 

32 The Giant Detective in France. First half lOc 

32 The Giant Detective in France. Second half 10c 

33 The American Detective in Russia 10c 

34 The Dutch Detective 10c 


The Publisher will send any of the above works by mail, 
postage prepaid, on receipt of the price, 10 cents each. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

17 to 27 Vandewater St. and 45 to 53 Rose St., New York, 


P, 0. Box 3751. 


MUNEO’S PUBL1CATIOK8. 


LADY BRANKSMERE. 

By ^^THE DUCHESS." 

PRINTED IN LARGE, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE. 
Complete in Seaside Library (Pocket Edition), No. 788. 


PRICJE 20 CEirVTjS. 


For sale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage prepaid, on 
receipt of the price, 20 cents, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MITNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. 


SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION), HO. 745. 

FOR ANOTHER’S SIN; 

OR, 

A STRUGGLE FOR LOVE. 

By CHABLOTTE M. BBAEME, 

Author of “ Dora Thome."''' 

PRINTED IN LARGE, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE, 


PRICE 20 CENTS. 


For sale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage prepaid, ofi 
t^eipv of the price, 20 cents, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro's Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. 




*- 

\ 


r 




% " ^ k 





THE 


New York Fashion Bazar. 

THE BEST AMERICAN HOME MAGAZINE. 


Price 35 Cents Per Copy : $3.00 Per Year. 


All yearly subscribers on our list on the first of December will be 
entitled to a beautiful chromo, entitled: 

“ HAPPY AS A KING.” 

The New York Fashion Bazar is a magazine for ladies. It 
contains everything which a lady’s magazine ought to contain. 
The fashions in dress which it publishes are new and reliable. Par- 
ticular attention is devoted to fashions for children of all ages. Its 
plates and descriptions will assist every lady in the preparation of 
her wardrobe, both in making new dresses and remodeling old ones. 
The fashions are derived from the best houses and are always prac- 
tical as well as new and tasteful. 

Every lady reader of The New York Fashion Bazar can make 
her own dresses with the aid of Munro’s Bazar Patterns. These are 
carefully cut to measure and pinned into the perfect semblance of the 
garment. They are useful in altering old as well as in making new 
clothing. 

The Bazar Embroidery Supplements form an important part of 
the inagazine. Fancy work is carefully described and illustrated, 
and new patterns given in every number. 

All household matters are fully and interestingly treated. Home 
information, decoration, personal gossip, correspondence, and recipes 
for cooking have each a department. 

Among its regular contributors are Mary Cecil Hay, “ The Duch- 
ess,” author of ‘‘ Molly Bawn,” Lucy Randall Comfort, Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora Thorne,” Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 
and Mary E. Bryan. 

The stories published in The New York Fashion Bazar are the 
best that can be had. 

GEORGE MI3NR0, Publisher, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 TO 27 Yandewater Street, N. Y, 



i 

I 


SEAND, SQUAEE AND IJPEieHT PIANOS. 



ARE AT PRESENT THE MOST POPULAR 


FIRST PRIZE 

DIPLOMA. 

Centennial Exnibi- 
tion, 1876; Montreal, 
1881 and 1882. 

The enviable po- 
sition Sohmer & 
Co. hold among 
American Piano 
Manufacturers is 
solely due to the 
merits of their in- 
struments. 


They are use<3 
in Conservato- 
ries, Schools and 
Seminaries, on ac- 
count of their su- 
perior tone and 
unequaled dura- 
bility. 

The SOHMEH 
Piano is a special 
favorite with the 
leading musician! 
and critics. 


AND PREFERRED BY THE LEADING ARTISTS. 

SOHMKR & CO., Manufacturers, No. 149 to 155 E. 14th Street, N. Y. 


6,000 MILES 

OIF 

RAILROAD 



THE BEST 

THE WORLE 


IT TRAVERSES THE MOST DESIRABLE PORTIONS OP 


ILLINOIS, IOWA, NEBRASKA, WISCONSIN, MINNESOTi^ 
DAKOTA AND NORTHERN MICHIGAN. 


THE POPULAR SHORT LINE 

BETWEEN 

CHICAGO, MILWAUKEE, MADISON, ST. PAUL, MINNEAPOLIS, 

OMAHA, COUNCIL BLUFFS, DENVER, SAN FRANCISCG 

PORTLAND, OREGON, 

AND ADIi POINTS IN THE WEST AND NORTHWEST. 


PALACE ^ SLEEPING « GARS, > PALATIAL > DINING ^ CAB; 

AND SUPERB DAY COACHES ON THROUGH TRAINS. 


Close connections in Union depots with branch and connecting line 


ALL AGENTS SELL TICKETS VIA THE NORTH-WESTERN. 

New Torb Offlee, 409 Broadway. Chicasro Office, 62 Clark St. Den per Office, 8 Windsor Hotel Block, 

Boston Otflee, 5 State Street. Omaha Office, 1411 Farnam St. San Francisco Office, 2 New Montgomery S 

MlnneapolU Office, 13 Nicollet House. St. Paul Office, 159 E. Third St. Milwaukee Office, 102 Wisconsin Street. 

R • S. H A I R, General Passensrer Acent. THirAGO, ILL. 



Sr. I>OUl*I.E miMKEK 



l>KI€E SO 


KILDEE 


Sphinx of the Red House 


By MAltY E. BRYAN 


[SECOND IIAEF.] 


If TO S7 VaKdeWater 3f 




Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, Issued Tri weekly. By subscription $50 per annum, 
ed 1HH6 by George Munro— Entered at the Post Office at New York at second class rates— Sept. 16, 188 






THE KING OF STORY PAPERS. 

THE 

NEW YORK FIRESIDE COMPANION, 

A PAPER FOR THE HOME CIRCLE. 

PUEE, BRIGHT AND INTERESTING. 


THE FIRESIDE COMPANION numbers among its contributors the 
best of living fiction writers. Its Detective Stories are the most absorbing 
ever published, and its specialties are features peculiar to this journal. 

A Fresh Sermon by Rev. T. De Witt Talmage is 
Published in Every Number. 


THE FIRESIDE COMPANION is the most interesting weekly paper 
published in the United States, embracing in its contents the best Stories, 
the best Ske^hes, the best Humorous Matter, Random Talks, Fashion 
Articles, and Answers to Correspondents, etc. No expense is spared to 
get the best matter. 

Among the contributors to The Fireside Companion are Mary E. 

V 

Bryan, Lucy Randall Comfort, Mrs Alex. McVeigh Miller, Laura Jean 
Libbey, “Old Sleuth,” Charlotte M. Braeme, author of “Dora Thorne,” 
Mary C. Freston, Annabel Dwight, Clyde Raymond, Kate A. Jordan, 
Louise J. Brooks, Charlotte M. Stanley, etc. 


TERMS:— The New York Fireside Companion will be sent for one 
year, on receipt of $3: two copies for $5. Getters-up of clubs can after- 
ward add single copies at $2.50 each. We will be responsible for remit- 
tances sent in Registered Letters or by Post-office Money Orders. Postage 
free. Specimen copies sent free. 


Address 
P. O. Box 3751. 


GEORGE MUNRO, 

MUNRO'S PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

17 to 27 Vandewater St., and 45 to 53 Rose St., New Yortc. 





LADIES! 


St yon appreciate a Corset that will neither break down nor roll up in vsear. 

TRY BAIili’S CORSETS. 

If you value health and comfort, 

WEAR BAEI/S CORSETS. 

If you desire a Corset that fits the first day you wear it, and needs no 
^breaking in,” 

BUY I5AEE’S CORSETS. 

If you desire a Corset that yields with every motion of the body, 
EXAMINE BABE’S CORSETS. 

If you want a perfect fit and support without compression, 

USE BABE’S CORSETS. 

Owing to their peculiar construction it is impossible to break steels m 
Ball’s Corsets. 

The Elastic Sections in Ball’s Corsets contain no rubber, and are warranted 
to out wear the Corset. 

Every pair sold with the following guarantee: 

“If not perfectly satisfactory in every respect after three weeks* 
trial, the money paid for them will be reAinded (by the dealer). 

Soiled or Unsoiled.” 


The wonderful popularity of Ball’s Corsets has induced rival manu- 
facturers to imitate them. If you want a Corset that will give perfect satis- 
faction, insist on purchasing one marked. 

Patented Feb. 22, 1881, 

And see that the name BABB is on the box; also Guarantee of the 

Chicago Corset Co. 

AWARDED HIGHEST PRIZES WHEREVER EXHIBITED. 

Tor Salc l>y all I^eacliiig Slry Csroocls l>ealef.*i in tli« 
United l$tates, Canada and Ung'land. 


BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER : 

A FEW DAYS AMOKG 

OUR SOUTHERN BRETHREN. 

BY HENllY M. FIELD, D.D., « 

Author of “ From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Hornf^ “ From Egypt 

to Japan, On the Desert, '"'‘Among the Holy Hills,'" and £ \ 

“ The Greek Islands, and Turkey after the War.'''' ' t 


Of Doctor Field’s new book the New York says: “Doctor Field haf/, 

written many good books of travel in foreign lands; but this little book ofV 
letters from our own United States, and which he has called ‘ Blood is Thicker 
THAN Water,’ will be judged by many to be the best of all.” , 


The New York Independent says: “ The volume has a large part of its charm 
in the fact that it is bfimming over with reminiscences of the war, pictures of 
battles succeeded by peace, with handshakings of Federals and Confederates, 
all content now to belong to one general United States. Doctor Field has suc- 
ceeded wonderfully in investing with rare interest a somewhat prosaic and 
common tour by connecting it with the high sentiments of patriotism and na- 
tional faith. While the volume is written for the ordinary intelligent reader, 
may we venture to remark that it is just such a book as we would like to put in 
the hands of the young; and which, though not professedly a religious book, 
we should be very glad to have shove out of the Sunday-school Library many 
more pious but really less Christian and less useful volumes.” 


The New York World says: “ Doctor Field’s brilliant descriptions of the 
scenes visited, his reminiscences of the war, taken from the lips of ex-Confeder- 
ate officers, the vivid contrast he draws between the horrors of battle and the 
present plenty and contentment of peace and prosperity, delight the reader 
and lead to the regret that the volume is not twice as long as it is. . . . It is 
not merely a pleasing book of travel; it is a volume which should have a wide 
influence in further cementing the bonds which now hold the north and south 
together in the strength and affection of indissoluble union.” 


For Sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers. 

PRICE 25 CENTS. 


Sent by mail, postage free, on receipt of 25 cents. Address, 

GEORGE MUNRO, 

MUNRO’S PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

17 to "27 Vaiidewater Street, New York. 


K IL D E E ; 


THE SPHINX OF THE RED HOUSE. 


/ 

By MARY E. BRYAN, 

Author of “The Bayou Bride,” etc. 


SECOND HALF, 



NEW YORK: 

GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

17 TO 27 Vandewater Street. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the years 1885 and 1886, by> 

GEORGE MUNRO, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. 


MARY E. BRYAN’S WORKS 


CONTAINED IN THE SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION): 

NO. PRICE. 

731 The Bayou Bride 20 

857 Kildee; or, The Sphinx of the Red House. First half 20 
857 Kildee; or, The Sphinx of the Red House. Second half 20 



KILDEE; 

OR, 

The Sphinx of the Red House. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

A CLOSE^ cloudy night. Plashes of lightning in the east 
portend rain, perhaps storm. Kildee^s patient had just 
dropped to sleep — refreshed by the cool water in which the 
little nurse had just bathed her hands and face. The gray 
head and sallow face rest on the cotton pillow, and the sickly 
night-lamp shows that even in sleep the woman ^s features 
are restless. The brows contract, the lips twitch; some- 
times a muttered word escapes them. There is a look of 
hardness on the mouth, but other lines, expressive of suffer- 
ing, soften the bitter expression with their pathetic sugges- 
tion of poverty and struggle. 

The woman is known in the factory quarter as cross 
old Nell Barnes. She is cordially disliked by her fellow- 
workers and the rumors of her ill-temper have deterred any 
one from consenting to nurse her, even for pay. During 
the days Kildee has been nursing her the men and women 
occupants of the Factory Tenement House would occasion- 
ally stop at the door and inquire how the old woman 
was doing, and if she ‘‘ got into her tantrums last night, 
or looking commiseratingly at Kildee, say, ‘^ruther Twas 
you than me that had to Tend her,^^ or ‘‘how do you man- 
age to get on with that old cat?^^ 

At first old Nell had fully illustrated her reputation for 
crossness, but as she lay during an easy interval, she began 
to look at the girl standing at the foot of the bed cooling 
the soup for the sick woman. “ Put the soup down to cool 
itself and you come here,^^ she said. 

Kildee obeyed her, and she began to question her about 


218 kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 

her parentage, her early life, her history generally. As 
Kildee replied, the fever-red on the woman^s cheek began 
to deepen, and her eyes to burn with excitement. Her lips 
trembled; she made Kildee come close to her; she peered 
at her until the girl felt a thrill of terror at the proximity 
of those deep-set burning eyes. Then she pushed her from 
her and lay muttering to herself. 

‘^Yes, 1 can make it right— if I will; but — I wonT. 
ISFot now. Time enough. But, poor little thing, she 
wasnTto blame,^^ Kildee heard her say in broken sentences, 
and thought she was again out of her head. But after this 
incident Old Kell was almost gentle to her nurse and 
seemed really to try to curb her ill temper. 

She had been very restless all day, and Kildee fancied 
her worse. The girl sat very still, glad to have her patient 
sleep, and looked down into the black, gulf -like darkness, 
through which shone mistily the gas-stars of the city. She 
heard steps in the hall, a soft knock upon the door. She 
knew both step and knock, and the light of pleasure came 
into her eyes as she rose quickly and softly opened the 
door. 

Heathcliff ^s tall figure stood outside in the semi-dark- 
ness. 

Will you not come in, sirP^ she asked. 

No, my child. I only called by to bring some more 
wine for Mrs. Barnes and to tell you not to sit up late. 
Mrs. Betts, whose room is Just across the hall, promises to 
relieve your watch to-night. You must go into her room 
and sleep. 

He put a basket in her hand. She could see fruit and 
bottles of wine under the cover. On the top lay a new 
magazine and a bunch of sweet violets. 

‘‘ For you,^^ he said, seeing her eyes rest upon these. 

“ For me? Oh, T thank you. How did you know I 
was washing so for some violets? I fancied, when I opened 
the door, that you had brought the odors of Araby with 


KILDEE; OR^ THE SPHIHX OE THE RED HOUSE. 219 

you. But I caught a gleam of red; I thought it was 
roses. ^ 

Little Keen Eyes! Yes^ the roses are here — a perfect 
pyramid of them, but you are only to have a peep. It is 
to reward some of the singers at the concert to-night. They 
sing for the relief of the sick poor of our town, and it is my 
duty and pleasure to show that I appreciate the good deed. 
But you must have one rose. 

No, no, it would spoil the arrangement of the flowers. 
How lovely they are! I have feasted my eyes and nose 
there! I am going away from temptation. I hear Mrs. 
Barnes stirring. Good-night, sir, and thank you again. 

Good-night, child !'’^ he said, softly. He stood a mo- 
ment after she had left him, looking at the little head with 
its dark delicate tendrils of hair, bending over the sallow, 
bony face on the pillow. 

God bless her!^"' he said, as he turned away. 

I wasn^t asleep just now,^^ the woman said to Kildee. 

I knew Heathcliff ^s voice and I heard what he said about 
the charity concert and the flowers. I know who he is 
going to give them to. She^s kin of mine — that proud, 
high-steppin^ beauty, though they^d never own it without 
blushing and small good the kinship^s ever done me. 
Yes, the fine roses were for Honor Montcalm. They say 
he^s going to marry her; she^s not good enough for him, 
but she^s got the Montcalm beauty that the men go crazy 
over, and she^s got the Montcalm pride — her full share. 
Good mercy, how my throat burns! Give me some 
cool water. You call that cool water? I^m a good mind 
to throw it in your face. Ah! that crushed ice is good. 
Don^t mind me, child. I^m a cross old hag, as they call 
me. I hope you^re not going to leave me to-night, l^m 
afraid I shall have one of my turns about midnight. 

TV hen she was quiet again, Kildee went back to her seat 
by the window and watched the play of the lightning among 
the cloud-crags revealed by its flashes — watched it mechan- 


220 kildee; ok, the sphikx of the red house. 

icalty after awhile, for her ear presently caught a strain of 
distant music, borne from the opera-house where the 
concert was going on. Kildee^ s 'eyes filled with tears, her 
thoughts went back to the happy nights with her friends — 
the Ducciole Troupe, Max, Lottie — the fascination of the 
play, and what thrilling pleasure it was to do her part well 
and have the audience clap, and Max catch her hands when 
the curtain dropped, and the papa professor embrace her 
in his fat arms and tell her she was a credit to her 
teacher. 

Where are they now? If I only knew I would write. 
I am sure now they never meant to desert me. They did 
not know where I was, their letters were never permitted 
to reach me, and mine were never sent. 

A louder strain of music turned her thoughts to the con- 
cert again, and she pictured to herself the brilliant scene. 
The light, the flowers, the crowded hall, the tall fair singer 
— Miss Montcalm lifting with her white arms the great 
bouquet of roses, and bending her proud head in acknowl- 
edgement of her lover^s gift. Her lover. How strange to 
fancy Mayor Heathcliff a lover. So calm, so gravely kind, 
she had never imagined him paying lover-like attentions, 
whispering tender flatteries. How could he give so much 
time to sick and poor people and forlorn girls like her, 
when there were beautiful women always ready to welcome 
him and fill his leisure hours with music and accomplished 
talk? 

Even Kildee^s fancy did not shape Honor Montcalm as 
fair as she stood that night singing a duet from a popular 
opera, with a slim young tenor who flushed and thrilled at 
the fervor of her tones as though the warmth were meant 
for him, when in truth she forgot his presence in the pas- 
sion of her theme, and sung for one man in the crowded 
audience, whose grand head rose above all others, and 
whose gray eyes, ordinarily so cool, were luminous with ten- 
derness when they rested upon her. 


kildee; ok^ the sphinx of the eed house. 221 

It was an inspired hour for Honor. Her theme was 
heroic. It suited her — suited her noble face, her majestic 
shape. She sung with all her soul. Gone were the suspi- 
cions which had haunted her since Hazard whispered his 
warning. In their place were perfect trust and proud de- 
votion for the man she had chosen as her king. What a 
look she flashed upon him as she bent her head and received 
in her bare, beautiful arms the pyramid of fragrant bloom 
of which Kildee had had a glimpse! He reserved, though, 
one cluster of perfect roses and a beautiful Nile lily. He 
held these still in his hand. They too were for her, she 
felt sure. He knew the mystic scroll lily was her favorite 
flower. He would put it and the roses in her hand when 
he placed her in the carriage and murmur his few words of 
praise, you did well, my dear Honor. Such brief 
praise, but it was more to her than all the flowery compli- 
ments of others, first because it was true. He was truth 
itself. 

This was her last part in the concert. There was yet a 
comic scene from the ‘^Barber of Seville to wind up 
with. She went to the dressing-room to put her flowers 
into water, stood awhile in a reverie by the window, and 
then went into one of the passages between the scenes and 
listened to the singing on the stage. Some one behind her 
called her name in low, eager tones. She turned around 
and saw Hazard Hall, his dark face full of excitement. 

You said you would believe if you saw with your own 
eyes. You shall see to-night — now if you will go with me.-^^ 
Do you mean about Mr. Heathcliff? He is there 
among the audience. 

‘‘ Re is not there. He went away the moment you left 
the stage. He has gone to the Eed House. She is wait- 
ing for him. Come and you shall be convinced.'’^ 

She looked at him without speaking. Swift changes 
swept over her face, pale with haughty, incredulous resent- 
ment, spasmed with jealous fear, eager with a desire to 


222 kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 

know all. This last motive conquered pride and she. said 
with slow, guarded utterance: 

I will go; wait for me here.^^ 

She turned back into the dressing-room and found a 
dark, long wrap which she threw over her lovely dress and 
bare arms, and drew the hood of it over her head. Then 
she went back to Hazard. 

The others behind the scenes who were not now singing, 
had gone up nearer the stage to see and hear the clever 
rendering of the bit from II Barbiere.'"^ So those two 
passed out unnoticed through the greenroom door, and 
down the private stairway. A cab waited for them near 
the sidewalk. Hazard put Miss Montcalm in it and entered 
after her; and the carriage moved swiftly away. The 
driver had received his orders beforehand. 

Only once did Hazard speak during the drive: then it 
was to reassure Honor. He could hear the excited beating 
of her heart, as she sat beside him. She said nothing in 
return, but when the carriage stopped at a signal from 
Hazard, and he assisted her to alight before a house which 
loomed up, a shadowy, rayless mass, she turned to him and 
demanded to know where he was taking her. 

‘‘We are going into this house./' he answered. It is 
a vacant building which I was obliged to rent for the fur- 
therance of the detective operations your father intrusted 
me with. A window in one of the upper back rooms gives 
a view of what is happening in an apartment of the Red 
House, which stands next to it with fence and trees be- 
tween. 

‘‘And you wish me to look into the window of that 
room? I will not. . It is dishonorable. 

“ Then you never can have proof of Heathcliffs treach- 
ery. I see that you are afraid of the truth. Tou wish to 
hug the falsehood to your heart — to go to the altar blinded 
and deceived. Very well. 

With a low laugh of contempt, he turned from her, but 


kildee; on, the sphinx of the red house. 223 

lib wheeled back • again and laid a firm grasp on her 
Rrai: 

‘'‘You shall go in/^he said. I have sent away the 
carriage not to return for half an hour. I am going in 
the house and you must go with me. You have promised, 
and I will not be trifled with. 

He spoke in under-tones, but with that stern determina- 
tion which carries a woman ^s will with it. She let him 
draw her hand under his arm and lead her through the 
gate, which he noiselessly unlocked, up the shaky steps and 
into the unlighted hall. 

It was as dark as an underground vault, but Honor no 
longer hesitated or questioned. Her conductor struck a 
match and lighted a lantern which he took from the wall. 
By its dim illumination, they made their way upstairs and 
to the entrance of the last room on one side of the hall. 
Here Hazard shut the door of the lantern and set it on the 
hall floor, saying: 

We must have no light. It would put them on their 
guard. Let me have your hand."^^ 

He felt her tremble and draw back, but only for an in- 
stant. She allowed him to lead her into the dark, still 
room and guide her to a window. He softly unlatched the 
shutters and pushed them open. She looked out across 
the black space which intervened between the houses — a 
gulf-like vista with dusky tree-boughs below it and on 
either side. The house was a mass of shadow, save that 
one lighted parallelogram of the open window. The in- 
terior thus revealed made a colorful picture ui^on the black- 
ness which framed it. A background of tinted wall on 
which hung a long mirror. In front of this was a small 
stand, holding a vase of ferns, and beside it a light chair of 
red and pale-yellow wicker-work. 

Such was the picture comprised within the lighted square. 
A still picture; nothing moved, not even a frond of the 
graceful ferns. The two at the window watched and wait- 


224 kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 

eel, silent, almost breathless in the darkness, their eyes 
fixed on the illumined space, as though it were a magic 
mirror that should presently reveal their destinies. Haz- 
ard's suspense was almost as torturing as that of the woman 
at his side. He had risked his hopes of success on this 
scheme of bringing her here to witness her lover^s unfaith- 
fulness. If nothing came of it, he would have incurred her 
contemptuous anger and disbelief evermore, and he would 
have lost perhaps his last opportunity of identifying the 
mysterious young woman of the Eed House with the fugi- 
tive Laura Montcalm. 

Half an hour ago as he watched here in his old detective 
place, he had seen this Sphinx of the Eed House come to 
the window of her boudoir and throw open the blinds as 
though tired of her sultry prison. The room was dimly 
lighted, apparently by a lamp in the adjoining (inner) 
room. He could see her figure — dressed in some light rich 
fabric, but could not distinguish her features at all plainly. 
Their shadowy outline, however, confirmed him in the im- 
pression that she was beautiful. From her dress and rest- 
less movements, he conjectured she was expecting some 
one. He hurried to the opera-house, where he knew he 
should find Heathclifi. As he reached the theater entrance 
he saw Heathcliff come out with some flowers in his hand, 
enter his carriage and drive off in the direction of the Eed 
House. 

He has gone to visit his pet bird in her cage,^^ was the 
young man^s swift conclusion. 

He made his way behind the scenes — his connection with 
the press giving him the and proceeded to find 

Honor and announce that she could now satisfy herself of 
her lover’s infidelity. 

But he had done this at a venture. If she should see no 
one, he would lose all. And for a time no one was to be 
seen. 

Suddenly the lifeless aspect of the picture across the 


KILDEE; OK, THE SPHIHX OF THE RED HOUSE. 225 

way was broken. A woman^s form moved into the 
dimly lighted space and stopped beside the vase of ferns. 
Her face was turned from the v/indow, but there was a 
lithe, symmetric shape robed in blue, a gleam of burnished 
hair low on a graceful neck, a hand with shapely arm, bare 
to the elbow, holding out (Honor knew them at once) the 
Nile lily and creamy roses that Heathcliff had taken from 
the bouquet he sent her after her singing. 

The white hand parted the fern leaves in the vase and 
placed the tall Nile lily among them; then the roses all 
but one. She kept this in her hand, holding up the foam- 
tinted cup that bent the leafy stem; then turning to the 
mirror, her face still invisible save for one cheek, she put 
the rose in her hair, and slightly turning, bowed as though 
in acknowledgment of praise from some invisible person. 
All at once her head drooped. She took the flower from 
her hair; she sunk into the chair and buried her face in her 
arms, crossed on the flower-stand before her. 

Miss Montcalm was surely somewhat prepared for what 
followed; yet a shock that was felt by Hazard, sitting so 
near her, went through her frame as a tall form — Ira 
Heathcliff^s — stepped into the lighted space. He came and 
stood beside the blue-robed flgure. He bent down and 
stroked the bowed golden head. The light on his face 
showed his grave features softened by tenderness. 

Presently the lady stood up, lifting her face to meet his 
look; she put one of her arms around his neck and dropped 
her head on his breast. He stood a moment with his arms 
around her, and his head bent to hers, then he gently put 
her a little from him, and holding her hand — moved away 
— out of the lighted space. 

Honor had not spoken or stirred while this drama went 
on before her eyes. She did not move now. She sat wdth 
her eyes still fixed on the spot which the two forms had 
occupied. 

Soon there came a dash of the long-threatened rain, and 


226 kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red house. 

a maii^s arm and hand were seen closing the blinds of the 
window over the way. The building was now one unrelieved^ 
dimly defined mass. The rain was spattering into the faces 
of Hazard and Miss Montcalm; still she did not move. He 
touched her hand to draw her away; the hand was colder 
than the rain. He became suddenly anxious. Had she 
fainted? He could not see in the darkness. He leaned 
over her and grasped her shoulder. 

‘‘ Miss Montcalm! Honor — 

She shook off his hand and rose to her feet at once. 

Let us go/^ she said. 

Her low constrained tones did not deceive him. He 
knew she was trembling in every limb^ and when they came 
out into the hall^ and he opened the lantern^ letting the 
light flash over her face, she was so pale that he said 
quickly: 

Forgive me for making you suffer so. I thought it 
was best you should know.^^ 

She drew away the hand that he had seized. 

It is best/^ she said coldly. Say no more; take me 
home if you please. 

One word/ ^ he said, I had a double purpose in bring- 
ing you here. That woman — she was your uncle ^s wife. 
She was Laura Montcalm, was she not?^’ 

‘ ^ Laura Montcalm V’ 

She dropped the cloak she was drawing around her, and 
it fell to the floor. She stood there in her white robes — 
scarce whiter than her face. This added blow was almost 
more than she could bear. 

It was really she, then,^^ Hazard said. I was almost 
sure of it before. He is harboring her here — that mur- 
deress!^^ 

‘‘ Silence! I do not believe it!^’ she cried, with angry 
lighting of her eyes. How do you know that woman was 
Laura Montcalm?^ ^ 

I did not know. I asked you. It is true, we had no 


kildee; ok, the sphihx of the red house. ^27" 

good look at her face. You did not see her features, but 
you saw her shape, her carriage, her head, her hair; surely 
you can tell me if she was your uricle^s wife.^^ 

^^Ican not tell, she said faintly. I have not seen 
her since I was quite young. I was away at the convent. 
I came home the same week of the murder, but I had not 
seen her, only my uncle. 

Is it possible 

A frown of annoyance darkened Hazard^ s brow. He 
was deeply disappointed. He had never thought but that 
Honor would at once recognize Laura Montcalm if this 
mysterious woman was she. 

She will identify her, and to-morrow I will procure a 
warrant to search the Bed House, he had said to himself 
as he watched the fair-haired Sphinx opposite his post of 
observation. He had failed in one of his objects to-night; 
and now he might never have an opportunity of identifying 
this secret inmate of the Bed House with the woman he 
was hunting down. 

But surely you remember something of Mrs. Mont- 
calm^ s appearance, he persisted. ^^She was a beautiful 
woman — a — a blonde — like the one we have just seen — was 
she not?^^ 

Honor shivered as she gathered up her cloak. 

“ I have told you I have not seen her in years, she an- 
swered, in cold, husky tones. 

She could not fasten the clasp of the cloak, her fingers 
trembled so. He came to her aid, not heeding her hand 
which motioned him aivay. ‘ He fastened the clasp under 
her throbbing throat and drew the folds of the wrap closely 
around her. They came out on the veranda — and saw the 
carriage — a dim mass — just before the gate. A wild dash 
of rain made Hazard detain Miss Montcalm, and draw her 
back against the wall, out of the reach of the spattering 
drops. 

It is but a gust; it will soon be over,^^ he said. She 


228 kildee; oh, the sphihx of the red house. j 

did not speak for a minute. He wished for a flash of v 
lightning that he might see her face, but none came, i 
Presently she said, speaking in low, controlled tones: ] 

^ What *will you do about this — this afCairr^^ J 

I shall get a warrant to search the Eed House and drag 
Ira Heathclitf^s guilty secret to light. It will ruin him, 
but what matter, he deserves it — the hypocrite! Let jus- ' 
tice be done. ; 

He could feel her flinch and shiver as she stood beside ■ 
him. ^ 

You will not warn him,^^ he said. You are your fa- 
thePs child; and though you love him — 

Though I have loved him,’^ she answered. We cease 
to love when we cease to honor. 

Hazard’s heart beat triumphantly. 

Let us go,^’ she said. The violence of the rain is 
over.’-’ 

It was raining still, and the walk was wet. Hazard re- 
membered her little, satin-slippered feet. He asked no 
permission; he caught her up in his arms, and ran with 
her to the cab, despite her struggles to free herself. 

Dearest,” he whispered, forgive me. I could not let 
you walk. I have been cruel enough to you to-night.” 

She did not answer, nor did she speak as the carriage 
rolled away through the rain and gloom. 

Two figures rose ujd on the piazza of the old house they 
had just quitted — a girl and a man. A flash of lightning 
showed the girl’s face pale and troubled. 

‘ ^ I am glad w^e ran in here out of the storm, ” she said. 

It w^as Providence.” 

Her companion looked in her face and smiled confidingly 
— vacantly. Then holding the great blue umbrella over 
her, he stepped down the rickety stairs by her side and they 
went out into the rainy street. 


KILDEE; OE^ the SPHI]SrX OF THE EED HOUSE. 229 


I 


CHAPTER XXX. 

The city clock was striking ten when a knock again 
brought Kildee to the door. A faint, timid knock at first, 
then a louder rap and a voice that she recognized. She 
was not surprised when she opened the door to behold St. 
Peter. He had escaped from Mme. Jean^s charge and 
found his way to the Factory Row. He had more than 
once followed Kildee to the tenement house. His appear- 
ance here to-night worried her. There was no place for 
him to sleep. He would be restless, and want to play on 
his violin, and it was necessary to have quiet in the sick- 
room. 

She was afraid to send him away. The chances were 
that he would not return to Mme. Jean% but would hang 
about the tenement house all night, sleep on the stairs, 
probably, or be taken to the lock-up by a policeman. 

While she was thinking what she should do Mrs. Betts 
came in, and said she had got her young ones*^ to bed 
and was ready to carry out the promise she had made Mr. 
Heathclitf of relieving Kildee ^s watch. She felt quite fresh 
because of an afternoon nap, and w’ouldnT mind sitting 
up with the old lady the rest of the night. There would 
be no need that any one should sit up altogether, she 
thought. The patient seemed resting pretty well and a 
body who was a light sleeper could lie on the other side of 
the bed and snatch little naps between the times when there 
was a necessity for being tip. 

Then I will go home and take St. Peter with me,^^ 
Kildee said. 

And start right off,^^ advised the woihan, for it will 
rain again soon, I^m pretty sure. That last shower wasn^t 
the finishin^ one. The hevings look too black. 

Kildee started at once. She took St. Peter^s hand and 


230 


kildee; oe, the sphikx of the bed house. 


hurried him along. But the rain began to fall before they 
were half-way to Mme. Jean^s. They took refuge in the 
stately columned porch of a church. Services were going 
on^ and the singing and the sermon could be heard through 
the long, large windows opening to the floor of the portico. 
Kildee leaned against the wall near one of these windows 
and St. Peter seated himself at her feet. 

Two half- tipsy young men had followed them down the 
street. These now stopped in front of the church under 
their umbrellas and seemed undecided about their further 
movements. At length one of them laughed, shook his 
head and went on; the other mounted the steps of the 
church, shut his umbrella and approached Kildee. 

You^re weather-bound, it seems, miss, wonT you walk 
on with me under my umbrella?^^ 

‘‘ Thank you, no,^^ she answered with her air of gentle 
reserve. 

The tone and manner would have deterred any but a half- 
drunken fop from making further advances. He edged 
near to her and said insinuatingly: 

Well, you woiiT object to my standing here and look- 
ing at you. 

Kildee turned from him and rested her hand on St. 
Peter’s shoulder. But the fellow knew the white-haired 
musician to be an imbecile. 

^‘What’s the. sense in being so deuced coquettish?^’ he 
said, trying to peep under her hat. You are as pretty 
as a peach blossom; you ought not to be so — ” 

A hand laid heavily on his shoulder made him start and 
turn about. Some one else had seen Kildee and the old 
fiddler take shelter in the church porch. It was Oarleon 
who faced her tipsy persecutor. The fellow was discon- 
certed. All the town knew Oarleon’s strength of arm and 
fire of temper. 

Get away from here at once,” he said in suppressed 
tones. 


kildee; ok, the sphihx oe the ked house. 231 

The man had sense enough to see that Oarleon wanted no 
altercation at a church door and took advantage of it. 

I have as much right here as you/^ he said, “ and 
here ITl stay.^^ 

Oarleon said not a word. He seized the fellow by the 
collar and waistband, lifted him to the steps and threw 
. him down them into the street. He landed with a loud 
splash into a puddle, rose muttering threats, and limped 
away. 

The proceeding gave much delight to St. Peter. Before 
Kildee knew what he was about, he had unslung his fiddle 
and scraped the first notes of a lively fantasia — his manner 
of expressing gratification. With some difficulty she per- 
suaded him to desist. When she raised her head that had 
been bent over the refractory saint, she saw Oarleon standing 
on the other side the window, leaning against the wall, not 
looking at her — seeming to listen to the sermon that was 
being preached inside. 

- The preacher^s resonant voice made itself heard above 
the dash of the. rain. He was a revival preacher of some 
celebrity — Methodist, yet'not conforming to Oonference 

rules in that he was not stationed at any one place, but 
traveled from town to town, firing the heart of the 
church,^'' as he said. Hon-religious people called him a 
fanatic, a crank; pious men and women hailed him as an 
inspired upholder of a standard that had its periods of 
drooping. Sam -Brown was combative in his nature. He 
had the instincts of the soldier and the zeal of a Pound- 
head. With hardly an ^^old field school education, he 
possessed the elements of a popular speaker — enthusiasm, 
self -belief, imagination, humor. His original way of ex- 
pressing himself drew attention. His quaint, forcible, 
often laughable illustrations impressed themselves on his 
hearers. His enthusiasm was contagious. His energy, his 
fearlessness, his belief in himself as an ordained captain in 
the fight against the devil were almost sublime. He was 


232 kildee; or, the sphinx op the red house. 


always ready to tackle the arch-fiend. In the street, in the 
shop, in the private parlor as in the church, he went with 
his sleeves rolled up and his fists clinched, so to speak. 

He was at his best to-night. He poured out a wealth of 
epigram and illustration — some of these more forcible than 
elegant, and some so quaint and comic that his listeners 
laughed out. The next moment, a touch of homely 
pathos drew their tears. The very plainness of his lan- 
guage — its scorn of the rules of grammar and rhetoric add- 
ed a charm to his talk. It was as though he disdained any 
setting for the diamond message he was charged with. 

The rain poured. The preacher^ s voice rose, and rang 
with a peculiar clash that set nerves to tingling with its 
suggestion of sword-like force. Presently, while the con- 
gregation sung he came down from the platform and walked 
among the crowd; speaking to them, right and left, calling 
some of them by name and exhorting them personally. As 
he made his way between the rear benches to speak to a J 
sobbing woman, his quick eye caught sight of Carleon lean- 1 
ing near the window on the outside. A moment after he 
came to the window. 

Come in, my friend, he said. There ^s plenty of , 
room in the Lord^s ark without hanging on to the outside 
guards. 

He suddenly recognized Carleon; his eyes kindled, he 
laid his strong grasp on Carleon^s shoulder. 

Ah! my brother,^^ he said, I knew the hand of the 
Lord was upon you. His spirit is at war with Apollyon in 
your breast. Yield to Him. Come over and join our army 
of recruits for the great fight. 

Carleon shook the preacher’s hand from his shoulder. 

Leave me alone,” he said, I want none of your cant. 

Go back and humbug your set in yonder. I stopped here 
for shelter, not to listen to your ravings.” 

‘^You stopped because the angel of . the Lord stayed 
your steps as it did Saul of Tarsus. ITl leave you now. 


kildee; ok, the sphihx oe the bed house. 233 

but I shall talk to you again soon. I will come to see 
you. 

“ You can spare yourself the trouble/^ Caiieon answered. 

I will not see you. 

You assuredly will/^ said Sam Brown, turning off and 
joining in the ringing chorus of the hymn the congregation 
was singing. 

The rain ceased to pour, though the sky was still black 
and the lightning leaped out at intervals. 

Come,'’'' said Kildee to St. Peter. 

Stay; let me get you a cab,^^ Oarleon interposed. 

But Kildee stopped him. She said decisively that she 
jDreferred to walk. 

May I not bear you company? It is hardly safe for you 
to be in the streets at this hour with only this irresponsible 
creature,^ ^ he said, wondering at himself for the timidity 
with which he — Oarleon — made the request of this little 
fruit-seller. 

I am not afraid, she answered. I have not far to 
go. And she added, fearing he might think strange she 
should be out at this time of night, I have been nursing 
some of the sick at Factory Eow.'’^ 

I know it,^^ he said. And then with a slight sneer in 
his tones: ‘^It seems to me your exemplary guardian, 
Heathcliff, is not overcareful of you to let you do such a 
thing and to allow you to expose yourself on such a 
night — 

It was by my own wish that I went to nurse some of 
the fever patients,^'’ Kildee said coldly. And my being 
out to-night is an accident. Good-night, sir. 

He put his large silk umbrella into St. Peter^s hands as 
the two descended the church-steps. It was still drizzling 
rain, and he foresaw that another shower would overtake 
the girl and her charge. 

Another shower did come, and it found Kildee and her 
companion on the street, further from their destination 


234 : kildee; oe^ the sphinx of the eed house. 

than before. Somehow in the mist and gloom and the 
confusion of thought following upon that interview with 
Carleon^ she lost her way. Had she trusted to St. Peter^ 
he would have taken her straight to Mme. Jean^s, but she 
had hold of his hand and he gave himself up to her guid- 
ance. 

A gust of rain — the wildest yet, dashed blindingly into 
their faces. The wind made the umbrella useless. St. 
Peter had given it up to Kildee, while he wrapped his coat 
about his beloved fiddle. Kildee looked about her. She 
was near a house that seemed unoccupied. There was no 
light to be seen in it, and by the gleam of the distant street 
lamp she saw that it bore the green jilacard which meant 

for sale. 

She hurriedly tried the gate, found it unlatched, and 
went in, followed by St. Peter. They found shelter in the 
old, vine-hung piazza. They sat on the floor, for they 
were weary, and St. Peter required to be soothed. Pres- 
ently a carriage was driven to the door. They had seen 
the carriage standing a little further on under the shelter 
of a thick-leaved tree that grew on the sidewalk. Was it 
waiting for some one who was in this dark, unoccupied- 
looking house? Kildee could hear the driver muttering, 
and the horses stamping the wet street. Directly she 
heard light steps coming along the hall inside; the door 
was softly opened and two muffled figures came out. They 
were Hazard Hall and Miss Montcalm. They stood wait- 
ing until the shower had passed, never suspecting the 
presence of the two who sat near them, concealed b}^ the 
gloom and the shadows of the vines. 

It was then that Kildee heard Hazard express his inten- 
tion to search the Eed House and bring Heathclifi’s 

guilty secret to light. She had no idea what this secret 
was; she had no distrust of Heathclifi. She never once 
gave credence to the thought that he could be guilty 
of anything evil or dishonorable. It is an enemy plot- 


kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 235 

ting to injure him; I detect revengeful triumph in his 
tones/ ^ thought the girl. ^^As early as possible to-mor- 
row, I will see him and warn him, she ^aid to herself. 


CHAPTER XXXL 

But though Kildee was at the mayor^s house next morn- 
ing at eight o^clock, he had already left the city on the 
early western train. He had gone to attend a political 
meeting at Milan, a town twenty miles from Wallport. 
The meeting was most important. A great crowd was ex- 
pected, for the two opposing candidates for the highest 
state office were, for the first time, to be pitted against 
each other. Many of the Wallport people were on the 
train, going out to be present at the contest. Representa- 
tives of the city press and correspondents of other papers 
were there with wide-open eyes and ears and busy pencils. 
Among these was Hazard Hall. The young journalist was* 
in buoyant spirits. There was to be an afternoon issue of 

The Rattler, to which he would telegraph the proceed- 
ings of the meeting. The edition would be large, for it 
would contain (Hazard trusted) a fatal bomb for Heathcliff 
— the announcement that General Montcalm had consented 
to be run as independent candidate for governor. Hazard 
had already prepared this announcement with fiaring capi- 
tals and headlines, so confident was he of the result of 
Honoris declaration to her father that she would not marry 
Heathcliff. He had shown what he had written to the 
chief of The Rattler, who had engaged to call upon the 
general and urge him to verify the announcement of his 
candidacy at once, as no time was to be lost. The inde- 
pendent side had only two months in which to work. 

Hazard was still in suspense. His scheme to search the 
Red House to-day had to be postponed for twent3"-four 
hours because of this important meeting at Milan. Also he 


236 kildee; ok> the sphihx of the red house. 

could not be sure what General Montcalm would do. 
However, he was sanguine in both respects. He meant to 
be back in Wallport in a few hours. By two o^clock the 
speaking would be over. He would take the train that 
passed through Milan at that hour and reach the city in 
time to see General Montcalm himself before The Bat- 
tler went to press. He knew his influence over the gen- 
eral. Young though he was, his shrewd insight, his im- 
petuous will, his dash and daring, had captivated the old 
warrior-statesman. He could hardly hold out against the 1 
arguments and persuasion of his favorite. ^ 

The assemblage at Milan amounted almost to a mass ; 
meeting. There were speeches: first light skirmish pop- ] 
ping, then heavy guns. j 

Norton^s well-preserved, portly presence filled the j 

speakers" stand for nearly an hour. He made a graceful, \ 

oily address, starred with brilliant points and plausible ^ 

argument. He was a wily politician and a practiced \ 

speaker, but the people knew him of old. A feeling that ; 

he was not to be trusted blunted the point of his elquence j 

and his sarcasm. i 

When Heathcliff rose there was a murmur of applause. ' 
His political record was short and not especially brilliant. 

He had served his state in her legislative assembly during 
several terms, and filled the post faithfully and ably. It 
was known that it had not benefited him pecuniarily. 
Money he could not want; his income from his mills and 
the rent from his houses amounted to many thousands. : 

He had a reputation for solid integrity, for justice and ' 

liberality. He had not given lavishly, but wisely, to public . 

enterprises of industry and of charity. He was a man — so 5 

looked upon — to be relied on as a safe if not a brilliant head ; 

of state affairs. 

His presence alone helped to inspire this feeling. The 
tall, massive figure, the fine head on columnar throat, the t 
calm, searching eye, the deep, tranquil tones — these seemed ^ 


kildee; ok^ the sphinx of the red house. 237 

tokens of a man strong enough to bear the burdens of state. 
His speech seemed the fit expression of such a man. 
Simple in its form^ bare of ornate rhetoric, almost devoid 
of personality, but clear, comprehensive, informed with the 
power of earnest conviction, it was hailed as a masterpiece 
of large insight and manly feeling. 

When the applause died away and Hazard HalPs boyish 
face and willowy but well-knit figure was seen on the 
speaker's stand, and it was found he was about to speak in 
opposition to Heathclifi, he was at first hardly listened to; 
but he forced attention by the grace of his presence and 
the daring of his utterances. He was opposed to both 
candidates. He roundly asserted that neither was the man 
for the position; that neither should or would win in the 
race. 

Wait for the dark horse, he cried; the pure 
thorough -bred; the war-horse with his neck clothed with 
the thunder -of many victories on actual fields of combat 
and on the battle-grounds of state; wait, and you shall see 
how easily he will distance this plebeian stock. ^ ^ 

He hashed his scathing satire along the past political 
record of Horton and then he turned its edge upon Heath- 
cliff. He knew that sarcasm and insinuation were the only 
weapons he could use against the Mayor of Wallport. He 
rang the changes on the grasping ambition of the rich man, 
who, not content with having coined his thousands out of 
the sweat of the laboring poor, now wanted to mount to 
political eminence upon their votes. He ridiculed what he 
called the Sunday-school record of Heathcliff. He pictured 
him as a second Pank^s patron, a condescending patriarchal 
Pharisee, dispensing tracts and blessings instead of bread to 
poor tenants and employes, whose rents he was careful not 
to lower and whose wages he piously refrained from raising 
lest their pride should be puffed up. 

Satire, however false, always tells, at least for the in- 
stant. Hazard ^s speech was as brilliant and spicy as it was 


23S kildee; oe, the sphinx of the red house. 

unjust. It created laughter and applause. Presently^ 
however^ the aiiplause changed to hisses. The listeners 
detected personal venom under the rattling ridicule. 
Hazard turned to leave the stand with a flushed brow, 
but he faced the crowd again and cried out with flerce 
energy: 

Time will verify what I have said. In a little while 
the people of this State will see the moral veil torn from 
their Mokanna idol. I make no groundless prophecy. I 
say what I know.^^ 

There was some applause; then a storm of hisses, and 
cries of Heathcliff! Heathclifl!^’ 

The man so audaciously attacked had sat with unmoved 
face during the bitter speech. Outwardly immobile as 
granite, yet the swift, hurling sarcasms had stung him 
deeply. Eesentment was the flrst feeling to spring up 
under them. They came from one he had secretly aided 
with money and influence. They came from the son of a 
woman who had wronged him cruelly. It was in his power 
by a few words to humiliate this daring youngster, and his 
first impulse was to do it. The impulse passed before Haz- 
ard's speech was over. When at length he came forward 
in response to repeated calls, the little speech he made was 
calm and controlled. His allusion’ to his youthful de- 
tractor, though it carried a sting of quiet irony, was toler- 
ant and dignified. It was as though a buffalo brushed a 
gad-fly from his withers. Satire, rather than truth, he 
said, was the weapon of youth and inexperience. It was 
showy, but superficial. The young man would learn to use 
it more discriminately when he was older. 

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers. Then while 
Hazard inwardly writhed under his quiet tolerance, which 
seemed to mean contempt, he passed on to other points. 
The attack had warmed him into magnetism. This little 
spontaneous speech was full of contagious feeling, and the 
applause was enthusiastic. 


kildee; oe, the sphihx of the eed house. 239 

The meeting closed with a barbecue^ in the midst of 
which feast came the noon express train^, and a number of 
Wallport people, among them Hazard Hall, returned to 
the city. Norton also went. He wanted to get there in 
time to prepare for a reception that was to be given him 
that evening. 

Heathclilf remained until later. He returned at six 
o^ clock on the passenger train. A crowd accompanied him 
to the cars. Their huzzas came to his ears as the train 
bore him away. 

It was an hour of triumph, and Heathclilf ^s pulses beat 
more quickly than was their wont. He was thinking how 
Honor would glory in his success of to-day. Ambition had 
always been a master impulse of his nature; but he had 
hitherto held it in check. Now he felt that there was dan- 
ger of its becoming a feverish thirst. The deep passion he 
felt for Honor Montcalm had reacted on his whole being. 
For her sake he coveted honors; for her sake he determined 
to win the present political goal, no matter what obstacle 
barred his way. • 

There seemed no obstacle now worth dreading. His way 
seemed clear to election, and then the people^s confidence 
should not be disappointed; he would do good work for his 
State. Grand schemes rose dimly before his mind. His 
spirit was dwelling on the heights. Did he not remember 
that such exalted moments often presage a fall? 

The train stopped at the depot in Wallport. Heathclitf 
was helping a bewildered old woman, with many baskets 
and bundles, off the train, when a newsboy sung out behind 
him: 

‘ ^ Evening extra of ^ The Eattler. General Montcalm 
out as independent candidate for governor. 

He turned sharply round, bought a paper and unfolded 
it before the gas-jet, and found the double heads of the 
column which announced that General Alexander Moutcalm 
had at last yielded to the demands of his friends, and con- 


kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red house. 

sented to come forward as a candidate for election on the 
independent platform. 

Whafc could this mean? HeathchiBP would not believe 
that the announcement was genuine. It was the work of 
^‘The Battler/^ he thought — a plot to injure his cause. 
General Montcalm* would not do this thing : he would not 
oppose himself to the man his daughter was about to 
marry. The newspaper assertion had an ugly look of posi- 
tiveness; still he believed it was an electioneering trick on 
the part of The Battler. 

This belief was put to flight by the first words uttered by 
a friend whom he ran upon as he left the depot. This man 
had spoken with the general only an hour before. 

Montcalm donT seem inclined to talk about the mat- 
ter/^ he said, but he admitted that he authorized the an- 
nouncement, and says that his decision was made not two 
hours before ‘ The Battler ^ went to press. It^s bad for 
our side. We shall have to work twice as hard. This will 
draw off many a vote from our cause. The general has the 
confidence of our party, and therefil be plenty to follow the 
lead. The split will be all benefit for Norton since it 
divides the votes opposed to him. He^s in town to-day; 
made a syllabuby speech that his posse cheered like forty. 
Judge Blair gives him a reception to-night. . The Blair 
mansion is illuminated in his honor, as you can see from 
here.^^ 

The mayor glanced at the lighted house on a distant emi- 
nence, but he was hardly conscious of seeing it. Surprise, 
pain, bewilderment at this sudden turn affairs had taken 
absorbed his faculties. Outwardly, he was as impassive as 
ever. 

A cool fellow, that Heathcliff,^^ thought his friend, as 
he walked away. That news would have moved a man 
of ice. Touches his heart too in a tender spot, I should 
say. This new move will clash with his suit to the gen- 
eraTs daughter. And rumor has it they are to be married 


kildee; ok^ the sphikx of the red house. 241 

next week. Wish I dared ask him about it; but one can 
never be familiar with Heathcliff.^^ 

When he reached home the mayor threw himself in his 
easy-chair^ and tried to think calmly on the possible causes 
and the consequences of this strange movement on the part 
of his prospective father-in-law. But the surprise made 
him restive, and without changing his dress or tasting the 
supper that was brought him, he went to General Mont- 
calm ^s. The servant who answered his ring said that his 
master was tired and begged to be excused. 

Very well,^^ said Heathcliff, giving no sign of his an- 
noyance. Tell Miss Honor that I am here.^^ 

She is not at home, sir. She has gone to the reception 
at Mr. Blair^s. 

The announcement almost staggered Heathclilf. He 
had written Honor a note before he went away, telling her 
he would return this evening and would come to see her; 
and she had gone, and left no note, no message for him I 
And gone to Judge Blair’s — to a reception given a man 
who was his personal enemy as well as his political op- 
ponent. She knew his estimate of Norton — that he be- 
lieved him to be a political trickster and a man without 
principle. She knew that he had lately discovered Norton 
to be the instigator of anonymously published slanders 
against himself. What was the meaning of this strange 
conduct on the part of his betrothed — this outrage of his 
feelings at the very time when her father had dealt such a 
blow to his political prospects? Only last night she had 
given him so sweet a smile; she had flashed upon him such 
a rare glance of tenderness when she received his flowers on 
the stage. For the first time she had seemed openly to ac- 
knowledge the relation between them. What had happened 
since then? Had she been hurt that he did not remain at 
the concert hall and accompany her home? He must see 
her, must know the truth. 

From General Montcalm’s house he went straight to the 


24:2 kildee; ok^ the sphijstx of the ked house. 1 

illuminated mansion in which his opponent was enjoying a 
reception. Honor was there, and he must see her to-night. ^ 
There was some party bitterness between him and Judge , 
Blair, but no personal unfriendliness. And little, gay, ^ 
dressy Mrs. Blair was one of his warmest admirers. He ' 
entered the shrubberied grounds and approached the house, \ 
stopping close to the veranda in the shadow cast by a Scotch 
fir-tree. He had a view of the brilliantly lighted interior; 
the long windows of the drawing-room were open to the 
fioor. At first he saw nothing of Honor, but presently ' 
she came in view and stopped with her companion just be- 
fore a window. She was leaning on the arm of a cavalier - 
who bent over her with an air of devotion. Heathcliff set 
his teeth when he saw that this was N'orton. Plausible, ; 
polished and entertaining as this man was, how could she < 
listen to him with such flattering attention when she knew j 
his real character? ' >j 

He had never seen her look as she did to-night — flushed, 
excited, with that restless, flashing look in her dark eyes. 

As he watched her, he saNV young Hazard Hall make his 
way to her side and ask her hand, it appeared, for a waltz, 
the lovely music of which was just begun. Would she 
waltz, when she knew how he disapproved it? At least 
she would not waltz with that upstart Bohemian, whose 
pen had overflowed with bitter comments upon her affianced | 
husband. 

Heathcliff saw that she hesitated. Her face had changed, 
clouded when she turned and saw Hazard. When he pre- < 
ferred his request she seemed about to refuse it coldly, but | 
he bent nearer; his daring, yet adoring look fixed itself 
steadily — significantly, Heathcliff thought — upon her. She ; 
yielded and allowed him to take her hand and lead her 1 
away. A moment afterward Heathcliff saw them whirl by ^ 
the window — the dark, brilliant young journalist and the J 
fair, stately girl. They seemed well-matched in youtl] and | 
beauty, while he — he was grave and worn with early strug- 1 


KILDEE^ OE^ THE SPHINX OF THE EED HOUSE. 243 

gles. He had a sudden, sickening fear that he was no 
match for this beautiful young girl. 

Perhaps she had never loved him, had bound herself to 
him through ambition or because it was her father^s wish. 
If he could see her! He must see her. 

Chance favored him. Mrs. Blair came out on the ve- 
randa holding the hand of her litfcle girl, and dropped 
wearily into a seat near the pillar close to which Heathcliff 
stood. He leaned his arm upon the balustrade and dropped 
a stalk of Japan lilies into her lap. He had gathered them 
for Honor as he passed through his yard. The lady turned 
her head and uttered a little cry of delighted surprise when 
she saw who it was. 

Come in; come right in,^^ she said. I am more glad 
than astonished. 

I have not my ^ wedding garment ^ on, dear madame. 
I will tell you why I came.'^^ 

To see me, of course. 

No, not this time. I knew you were busy with the 
claims of others and would not have intruded. I came to 
see Miss Montcalm, just a moment, on a matter of impor- 
tance. Will you take her a message 

I will send her to you if you will come in. Come to 
my little sitting-room; there is nobody there but Pug and 
the parrot. I will send Honor in there on some pretext. 
It will be a nice surprise when she finds you there. 

She had run down the broad steps and put her hand 
through his arm. She led him to her tiny private sitting- 
room and placed him in a chair out of sight of any one en- 
tering the room because of a tall vase of flowers. 

Now you can rise up when she comes and see her blush- 
ing surprise. 

Heathclifi feared there would be very little delight in her 
surprise., He heard the door open, heard the rustle of her 
dress, and rose with an agitation that was new to him. 

Honor, dearest, you did not think to see me here?'''' 

2-2d half. 


241 KILDEE; OR^ THE SPHINX OF THE RED HOUSE. 

She gave a slight start; then she seemed to grow taller. 
She stepped back as he came toward her and stood looking 
at him, very pale, but with her head held proudly erect, 
her eyes steady in their haughty repulsion. 

Honor, what is the meaning of this — you are not glad 
to see me?^^ 

She did not speak immediately. Her eyes faltered under 
his look of pained surprise. At length she said: 

Yes, I am glad to see you, Mr. Heathcliff. This unex- 
pected meetin^ives me an opportunity to return you this 
ring you once put on my finger, and to tell 3 ^ou that hence- 
forth we are merely acquaintances, or better still, stran- 
gers.-^^ 

She dropped the ring into his hand as she spoke, and 
slightly bending her head, she turned to go, but he seized 
her arm and drew her back almost fiercely: 

Explain this thing, he said hoarsely. 

Take your hand from my arm,, Mr. Heathcliff; I will 
not stay to explain; there is no explanation needed. You 
may see your dismissal in any light you please; only re- 
member that it is final. 

Honor, this is worse than childish. You can not mean 
it. Do you remember that you are almost my wife — that 
you are to be married to me in five days from now?^^ 

1 will never be married to you, Mr. Heathcliff. , 

“ Then I must know the reason why. You must tell 
me why you have proved traitor to your word.^^ 

Her lip curled. 

‘‘ The less we say of traitors the better,^^ she said. I 
have told you that you may assign what reason you like for 
my act — caprice, heartlessness. Oh! no need to pretend 
ignorance; you know the cause. Go; and remember that 
you have lost Honor,’’ 

Her bitter tone emphasized the play on the word 
‘‘ Honor. She bent her head in token that the interview 
was ended, and turned from him. 


, kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 245 

‘‘ My dear Honor/^ said Mrs. Blair, fluttering to the 
door. ‘MA^hat shall I do? Here^is Mr. Norton hunting 
for you everywhere. He says you promised him this dance 
— shall I ask him to excuse you?^^ 

By no means. I am quite ready to keep my promise. 

But Mr. HeathcM?^" 

Our interview is at an end. I have just said good- 
night to him,""^ she answered, as she passed through the 
hall on her way to the ball-room. Heathelifl thought her 
tones sounded gay and heartless. He did not know that 
intense nervous excitement sustained her as strong wine 
might do. What she had seen last night was fresh before 
^ her. Her outraged pride, her scorn of his treachery blunt- 
ed for the time the pangs of wounded love. 

She had said to her father only this: 

He is not worthy to be your son or my husband. Do 
not ask me how I know this. I do know it, and I will 
never marry him. 

He did not question her. He had confidence in her 
judgment; and besides he felt that what she said was deeply 
earnest and final. Heathcliff felt the same when he list- 
ened to her words of dismissal. She was lost to him. 
Strong as he was, the blow almost stunned him. At a dis- 
tance from the lights and music he slackened his rapid 
stride, and tried to think coherently, tried to conjecture 
what had caused the woman he worshiped and trusted — the 
woman who was almost his wife — to turn against him. Had 
she discovered his secret? The fear went through him like 
cold steel. If that secret were found out, then more was 
at forfeit than the love of Honor Montcalm — the safety, 
the life of a woman who was dear to him — his own hard- 
earned -good name, nay, his own safety. But it could not 
be that this secret was discovered. He had guarded it too 
weU. 


246 kildee; ok, the sphinx of the ked house. 


CHAPTER XXXIL 

The reception at the Blair mansion, which had begun 
with the brass-band music, speeches and a dinner at six, 
was still at its height. Yet when Heathcliff, half -stunned 
by the succession of reverses that had fallen upon him, 
stopped in the shadow of a tree that overhung the sidewalk 
to collect his thoughts, he saw Hazard Hall, whom he had 
left the gayest of the guests, pass him hurriedly arm in arm 
with a young man. Where the streets cornered, a few^ 
steps further, the two stopped. 

‘‘ I say. Hall, let^s go to Bielman^s. His beer-garden is 
in full blast to-night. Old Cap sings a jolly song and red- 
haired Nettie dances. Come.-^^ 

‘‘ CanT,^^ returned the other. I have an appointment 
at ten, and I must see some men before that time. It^s 
nearly nine now. Nothing but important business could 
have torn me from the Blairs, I assure you. ^ 

Political, of course. You^ll be steeped to the chin in 
politics from now till election.'’^ 

This is not politics, however, though it will have a 
strong bearing on the vote for governor. It is a bit of fine 
detective work, said Hazard, whom wine had warmed into 
indiscretion. Listen out to-morrow; youTl hear a thun- 
der-clap. 

Why, what’s the mischief? You heat my curiosity to 
boiling-point. Tell me what you mean?” 

‘‘ Sufficient for the day is the account thereof,” returned 
Hazard, with a laugh and a toss of the hand as he rushed 
away. 

Heathclilf scarcely heeded what he had heard. He 
walked on with the uncertain step of one who had received 
a heavy blow. As he reached the brightly lighted heart of 


kildee; oe, the sphikx of the ked house. 247 

the city, a sadden temptation rose up and plucked him by 
the sleeve. All his life he had struggled against an inherited 
craving — the craving for alcoholic stimulants. It had as- 
sailed him^ as evil things do, in moments when the barri- 
cade of his will was weakened by fatigue or care; or when 
it was overthrown by some storm of sorrow. Hitherto he 
had battled against it successfully. Never, but once, had 
it gained even a temporary victory. To-night it came on 
the heels of his bitter and bewildering disappointment. As 
he hurried down the streets, he passed the doors of lighted 
liquor saloons. His pride forbade him to enter these, but 
presently he came to a hall opening on the street, brilliant- 
ly lighted, with large, richly curtained windows full of 
foliage and flowering plants. A little miniature fountain 
tossed up its perfumed waters. The notes of a piano and 
zither floated out from the further end of the hall, hid by 
light curtains of lace. 

Gentlemen^s Eeading-Eoom was the glittering sign 
over the door, but Heathcliff knew that this was but the 
fair-seeming bait of a gilded trap. He knew that the lace- 
hung vista concealed other attractions besides the latest 
newspapers and uncut magazines. A vision of red wines- 
and the Are and frost of ice-cooled brandies, tinkling in 
crystal glasses, came to him as quenchers of the fire that 
burned at his heart. He had never entered the place in his 
life; now he paused before its open door. He hesitated, 
then he turned to go in. 

Was it chance, or overruling Pate that interfered? A 
hand touched his arm. He turned and saw Kildee. A 
little factory boy, whom he knew, was her companion. In 
that hour of anguish and temptation, her kind smile, her 
sweet, tender face seemed the smile and face of the Angel 
of Consolation. He grasped her cool little hand in his hot 
fingers. 

Child, where are you going?^^ 

Home,'’^ she said; to Madame Jean^s. I have been 


^48 kildee; oe^ the sphinx of the bed house. 

with Mrs. Barnes since six o^clock. She sent for me. 
She is no better. I am so glad I met you. I have been 
to your house twice to-day to see you and you were gone. 

You wanted to see me about something particular?^ ^ 

Yes, I wanted to see you about something very par- 
ticular. Will you walk home with me, sir? It is but a 
little way.^^ 

Assuredly; Johnny Betts, you can run home to your 
.mother, said the mayor, dropping a coin into the hand 
of this shock-headed seventh of Mrs. Bettses young 
ones. 

He took the girks hand and they walked on together — 
past the glowing windows and lace-draped vistas of the 

Eeading-Room — past temptation. 

There were no customers in the shop when they entered. 
Mine. Jean was putting things into the show-cases and on 
the shelves. 

Kildee led Heathcliff to a little recess among the tall 
box-plants, and brought him a glass of sherbet. She had 
seen at once that he looked weary and troubled. She seated 
herself on a little ottoman at his feet. 

And now tell me your something particular, he said, 
with an effort to smile. Is it something that worries 
you — something that I can help you in?^’ 

She shook her head. 

‘‘It is not about myself, she answered; and she told 
him what she had heard the night before, while she was 
sheltered from the storm in the old building adjacent to 
the Red House. 

He listened with an agitation he could not control. He 
understood at once that a spy had found the one unguarded 
loop-hole of his secret — the window facing another window 
in the house believed to be unoccupied. He felt almost 
sure who this spy was. 

“ Did you recognize the maii^s voice/^ he asked, not ex- 
pecting an affirmative answer. 


KILBEE; OR^ THE SPHINX OE THE RED HOUSE. 249 

“ Yes; it was the voice of a young man I knew when I 
was a child. He lived in the lodging-house where the 
woman who claimed to be my mother left me. He was 
Lottie^’s friend. He went away, but I saw him a month 
ago, when our troupe were at Eock Springs. I have seen 
him here several times passing along the streets, and once 
he bought some bananas of me. I do not think he recog- 
nized me.^^ 

- ‘‘And his name?^^ 

“ Hazard Hall. 

The mayor had felt this would be the reply. And the 
woman with him he was sure was Honor Montcalm. But 
this consciousness gave hardly a wound. Apprehension 
banished jealousy. A sudden thought almost paralyzed 
him with its suggestion of near danger to one he loved. 
That appointment at ten, that “bit of nice . detective 
work which Hall had spoken of not fifteen minutes ago. 
What could it mean but this? — the Eed House was to be 
searched at ten — the hour the Sphinx had occupied it when 
the spy had seen her. It wanted now not an hour to the 
time — too late for escape. The house was watched, of 
course. 

“ She is lost,^'’ he said, striking his brow with his 
clinched hand. He forgot the presence of Kildee. He 
sprung to his feet and walked the floor, trying to think of 
some plan to save her he loved. His knitted brow and 
compressed lips revealed his anguish to Kildee; she followed 
his movements with pitying eyes. 

He caught her wistful look at length. He stopped and 
looked at her. He wondered to see no distrust in her frank 
eyes. He went up to her. 

“ What must you think of me after what you heard in 
that house, and after you have seen the way it has affected 
me? You must believe I am a hypocrite and a bad 
man.^^ 

“ I do not think so/^ she answered, simply. 


250 KILDEE; OK, THE SPHIHX OF THE KED HOUSE. 

"‘But you doubt me?^^ She gave him along, steady 
look. 

I do not doubt you,^^ she said. 

God bless you, my child, he uttered, turning away, 
while his lip trembled. If my promised wife had only 
had such faith in me,^^ he thought. 

He turned to her again. A sudden resolve had come to 
him. 

Kildee,^^ he said, “ I have a secret, a strange one, 
full of sadness and danger. I ought to tell you this secret 
to confirm your belief in me.^^ 

You need not; it will be painful to you. I believe 
you have not done any wrong. Do not tell me anything 
— unless I can help you. Can I not do something 

You? no, sweet child; what could you do? And yet 
your intuitions are so clear — like a child ^s. If you knew, 
perhaps — Kildee, by your noble trust in me, you have 
earned a right to my full confidence. I will tell you this 
secret. 

He sat down close to her. In brief words he told her 
the story of a life that he had unexpectedly and strangely 
found linked to his own, a life which circumstances had 
j)ut in fearful jeopardy, necessitating instant and skillful 
concealment. And now this concealment was about to be 
penetrated; suspicion was aroused; the eyes of trained de- 
tectives were, without doubt, watching the house; in less 
than an hour it would be searched. What could be doner 

Kildee sat thinking, her little hands clasped tightly 
npou her knees. 

Do you know who was the woman that watched the 
house with Hazard Hall last night? she inquired at 
• length. 

I think I do. 

Did she or Mr. Hall ever see the — the concealed lady 
before she was a fugitive? 

Heathclifi hesitated reflectingly. 


KILDEE; qR, THE SPHINX OF THE KED HOUSE. 251 

‘‘ No/^ lie said^ they had never seen her I am almost 
sure. 

They would not be able to identify her then. They 
have only seen her at night in a dim light across a con- 
siderable space. They may even have had but a glimpse 
at her face. Some one else, dressed as she was, and dis- 
guised to resemble her, might — Stop!^^ she cried, inter- 
rupting herself, with sparkling eyes and heightened color. 

We have no time to waste in talking. Let us act. Mr, 
HeathclM, will you trust me to try to help you? Will you 
let me carry out a plan that has come into my head? Do 
not ask me what it is, please. ^ 

My little loyal heart! it may be something that will 
injure you.^^ 

Oh, no. I do not think so. DonT be afraid for me. 
I take it for granted I have your permission. Now only 
one question: How can- 1 get into the Red House? You 
tell me the gate is always locked. 

‘‘ There is a bell which an old negro janitor will answer. 
Whisper into his ear ^ Ich Dien,^ and he will admit you.'’^ 

“ That is simple enough, and now trust me, and leave 
me to my little scheme. Go and find out if your suspicions 
are well grounded; I mean if the house is really to be 
searched to-night. Do not be so sad, dear friend. Hope 
for the best. 

He kissed the little hand she held out to him. My 
angel of consolation,^^ he said, and he did not note how 
the blood rushed to her cheeks. She turned quickly to 
hide it and disappeared into the inner room. Heathcliffi 
left the shop, stopping to say a word concerning an order 
for fruit to M. Jean, who had come out to shut up the 
shop. 

Kildee had meantime run into the little kitchen, where 
the Irishwoman who had been hired to wash that day lay 
snoring on a cot. On a chair lay the woman clothes. 
Kildee caught up a long, rusty sack and a sun-bonnet, put 


262 kildee; ok, the sphijs’x of the ej:d house. 

them on in a twinkling, picked up a basket, ran lightly 
up to her room and took some articles from her trunk and 
put them into the basket; then she wenb softly down to the 
shop. M. Jean, who was putting up the shutters, turned 
and saw her, but supposed it was the wash-woman, Mrs. 
Mahoney, who had concluded to go home. She hurried 
along the sidewalk, imitating Mrs. Mahoney^s swinging 
gait, and stopped at the next crossing to wait for a street 
car, which would take her within a block of the Ked 
House. She knew where it was — she had gone there early 
this morning, for after her adventure the night before the 
place became a haunting mystery to her. 

In less than a minute she saw the green lights and heard 
the jingling bells of the street car. There were not many 
passengers, and these paid no attention to her. Sheltered 
by the long gingham bonnet, she sat in her corner, until 
the place was reached where she must leave the car. She 
got out and walked rapidly until the dark mass of high 
terrace and brick wall and tree-tops which concealed the 
Red House came in sight. Sure enough there was a man 
pacing in front of the house. She once more imitated the 
Irishwoman’s gait and walked on with an assured step 
and a fluttering heart. She stopped at the iron gate and 
palled the bell. The man wheeled and approached her. 
He stepped close to her, and eyed her searchingly. She f 
was glad that the sun-bonnet had such depths of shadow 
and the sack such swaddling folds. 

It was not two minutes (though it almost seemed as many ' 
hours) before the old negro came shuffling down the walk 
in answer to the bell. Before he could speak she exclaimed, 
coarsening her voice and fitting her accent to her dress: 

You’re powerful slow gittin’ here. Do you think I * 
want to wait all night?” 

He peered at her through the iron bars in astonishment. , 
Quick as thought, she dipped her head and whispered in ; 
his ear Ich Dien.” He gave a start and a kind of snort 5 


KILDEE; OR^ THE SPHINX OF THE RED HOUSE. 253 

of astonishment; then he slowly unlocked the door, and 
with mutterings and head-shakings admitted the visitor 
who had given the mysterious password. 

Apparently satisfied that she was a servant belonging to 
the house, the detective turned on his heel and walked on 
smoking his cigar. 

Show me at once to your mistress. My business is im- 
portant,^^ Kildee said to the negro. 

He went ahead, ascended the broad granite steps that 
led infco the gloomy, ivied veranda and unlocked the front 
door. He led her along the hall to a room at the lower 
end; there he knocked. It was some seconds before a voice 
inside gave the permission to come in."^^ 

Kildee found herself in the presence of the mysterious 
mistress of the Eed House. 

Miss Faust lifted her crooked figure from the depths of 
an arm-chair. The veil of thin gray gauze hung before her 
face, but through it could be seen the purple mark cover- 
ing one half her face, the large nose, the bright eyes behind 
the blue glasses. 

She looked at Kildee in surprise, it seemed in agitation, 
for she attempted to speak, and checked herself, turning 
to Caleb. 

His here woman guv de cur us password at de gate, 
else she neber got inside, ma^am,^'’ declared the old negro. 

‘‘ I have important business with you, madame. Please 
dismiss your servant,^'’ said Kildee. 

Miss Faust started to hear the refined accents and silvery 
tones so at variance with the dress. With a gesture she 
sent Caleb from the room. Kildee flung off the sun-bon- 
net and came close to her. 

‘‘ It is no time to stand on ceremony,^^ she said. I 
came from Mr. Heathcliff; he has honored me with his 
confidence, and I am here to help him and you, if I can. 
This house is to be searched in less than half an hour. The 
object is to find a lady who was seen last night in an upper 


254 kildee; ok^, the sphikx of the ked house. 

room at the back of the house. Those who saw her had 
never known her before she sought — retirement. There is 
a chance to deceive them by a stratagem. I am here to 
personate that lady. Will you show me the room she was 
in, and let liie have the dress she wore last night? I have 
with me the other materials for perfecting the disguise. 

For a breathes time the deformed woman stood staring 
at her, with hands pressed convulsively together, and spoke 
no word. Then her hands fell at her side; she uttered a 
low moan. 

It has come,^"^ she said, presently. 

Oh, clonT give up; have courage/^ urged Kildee. 

Above all, be quick — for your sake. 

My sakeP^ she repeated bitterly. It has come; let 
it fall; I am weary of the struggle. Death is better — oh, 
far, far better. Even that death. 

‘‘You must not feel so. You must exert yourself to 
keep up the concealment — for Ms sake, Mr. Heathcliff^s. 
Discovery would be ruin to him.'^^ 

She lifted her head, then light came back to her eyes. 

“ Come on,^^ she said to Kildee. “ For his sake I would 
do anything. 

She led the way upstairs, with a swift, gliding step 
strangely incongruous with her decrepit figure and white 
hair. They entered the bed-chamber, which, as Hazard 
had conjectured, connected with the little boudoir in which 
he had seen the yellow-haired Sphinx. Miss Faust then 
threw open a large armoirey revealing beautiful evening 
dresses hanging inside. She took out one of pale-blue 
French crepe, and gave it to Kildee. The girl quickly 
divested herself of the Irishwoman’s sack, and put on the 
delicate blue dress. It was too large in the waist; she 
dexterously lapped it over and pinned it; it was too long in 
front; she skillfully caught it up at either side, and pinned 
the loops so as to make them seem intentional folds. The 
length behind did not matter; it only added a little to the 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 255 

trailing volume of delicate lace-edged frills. She caught 
up her basket, took out something, and stepped to the mir- 
ror. In a trice her short, dark-^curls were covered with a 
wig of flowing golden hair — she had worn it last on the 
stage. She opened the box of flne French powder she had 
brought and made her face white as a cherry blossom. 
Then she hid the darkness of her delicate eyebrows by a 
golden paste and turned to Miss Faust. 

A blonde at your service, she said, with a little smile 
and bow meant to be reassuring. 

The peal of a bell came faintly to their ears. 

They are here,^^ cried Miss Faust; oh, God help me! 
Why did not Heathcliff come?^^ 

He will be here presently, no doubt. Ah, let us be 
brave, dear lady. Let us carry it off boldly. Go down to 
your room and meet them. I will be in that room where 
the spies saw the fugitive lady. Does this door lead to it? 
No, no, do not come with me. Go down at once. 

Old Caleb had lighted his pipe and seated himself in the 
chimney-corner to enjoy his ‘^night-cap smoke and to 
meditate over the strangeness of the fact that a woman had 
to-night given the open sesame to the Eed House — the 
password that had never, during the seven years of his 
janitorship, been uttered by any one beside his mistresses 
business manager, Ira Heathcliff. 

Once in seben 3'ears things allers takes a .turn,^^ he 
muttered. 

A clang of the gate-bell caused him to start up. 
eTain^t Mr. Heathcliff ^s ring,^^ he muttered. 

Clang, clang! — a quick, impatient peal. 

The short-stemmed pipe fell from Caleb^s mouth. 

Name o’ peace, who kin it be?^^ he exclaimed, and he 
made his way to the gate as fast as his unequally matched 
legs could take him. 

His dismay was great on beholding four men at the gate 
and hearing their demand: 


256 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

‘‘ Open in the name of the law. 

The sight of the buttons and billies of two city 
guardians operated as pptently as the muzzle of a pistol 
would have done. The iron gate swung open and a deputy- 
sheriff^ Hazard Hall and two policemen entered. The two 
latter had been engaged alternately in watching the Eed 
House during the past twenty-four hours. 

‘‘Not a soul has left the house/'’ they reported to Haz- 
ard, “ except that sooty, surly watch-dog the nigger. He 
hobbled out in the morning, locked the gate behind him 
and came back in about an hour. Not a half hour 
ago, an old woman w^ent in — a common Biddy-looking 
body, in a long sun-bonnet, with a basket on her arm. 
She^s in there yet.’’ 

“ Mistis will be scared out of her wits,'’^ thought Calebs 
as he opened the front-door for these unwelcome ni^ht 
visitors. They followed him along the hall. 

“ Miss Faust is here in her room,^^ and he rapped on the 
door. The knock was promptly responded to. The posse 
entered. The mistress of the Eed House rose as they 
came in. She was richly dressed in black silk, relieved 
with fine white lace. In spite of her disfigured face and 
deformed shape, there was something impressive, attractive 
in her bearing — a majesty — a mystery. 

“To what do I owe this unexpected visit she 
asked. 

The deputy stepped forward and handed her the legal 
permit to search her house and premises, founded on the 
declaration of one Hazard Hall, that, to the best of his be- 
lief, the criminal, Mrs. Montcalm, was concealed therein. 
Hazard, leaning against the door and watching the lady 
closely, detected a tremor of the silvery veil that fell over 
her face, but when she spoke her voice was controlled. Its 
keen, harp-like note (foreign of accent) was accentuated 
by sarcasm. 

“ I suppose I must yield to the majesty of the law, which 


kildee; oe^ the sphinx of the eeh house. 257 

authorizes this intrusion at the instigation of — ’ ^ Her eyes 
ran over the group and rested upon Hazard. 

He bowed in his half-mocking way, but in spite of his 
self-assurance he felt uneasy under the quiet irony of her 
manner. 

Perform your task, sirs,^^ she said, with a wave of her 
hand. Search the premises, search the house from bot- 
tom to top. You shall have the keys to every room, every 
closet. Get them,^^ she said to the negro woman, whom she 
had summoned by a touch of a bell on the table beside her. 

The officer received the bunch of keys in his hand. He 
looked a trifle sheepish as he turned away. Hazard was 
glad to leave the presence of Miss Faust. 

Come at once to the secret boudoir, he cried, spring- 
ing up the stairs. I can And it, I know. It is likely we 
need not search any further. She will be found there or 
in the adjoining bedroom. 

They followed him up the stairway into the wide upper 
corridor, lined with rooms on either side. They turned to 
the lett, passed down the hall, treading lightly on the soft 
carpet at a sign from Hazard, and entered the last room at 
the rear. It was vacant. There was a door in the right 
hand corner of the room. They found the key and 
opened the door. It admitted them into a semi-detached 
portion of the house, which, seen from the outside, had a 
tower-like appearance. It had a trap roof, and consisted 
of two rooms in each story, fltted with large, long windows, 
guarded by Venetian blinds and jalousies. The room they 
entered was a bed-chamber, furnished in pearl color and 
gold, and seeming a At nest for beauty. Hazard gave a 
quick glance around, saw the open armoire, stepped to the 
dressing-case and picked up a hair-pin Kildee had left, 
saw the box of perfumed powder, a toilet-bottle exhaling 
jasmine odor, and a knot of pale ribbon. 

Eureka!^^ he cried; the bird is close by, here are 
some of its feathers; come.^'" He darted to the door of the 


258 kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red house. 

other room — the boudoir where the blonde Mystery had re- 
ceived her visitor at this house. He opened the door soft- 
ly. A woman stood with her back to him, idly pulling the 
petals of a rose that swung its creamy censer from a 
porphyry vase. She was dressed in blue, a mass of golden 
hair was caught up above her white neck by a pin, whose 
dagger- shaped handle was studded with pearls. ‘‘It is 
she,^'’ he said, below his breath. He recognized the 
dress, the hair, the pearl-studded dagger-pin. 

The three other men had entered noiselessly. One of 
them coughed; the lady turned. She gave a start of sur- 
prise; then she raised herself haughtily erect. 

“ How dare you intrude into this room?^^ she demanded. 
“ Who are you? Eobbers?^^ 

“ Iso/’ answered Hazard. “ We came to carry out the 
law, not to break it. We are armed with a warrant to ar- 
rest Mrs. Laura Montcalm on the charge of murder. 

He had fully expected to see her turn livid; to hear her 
shriek, drop on her knees, and beg for mercy. She did 
nothing of the kind. She only arched her brows in* scorn- 
ful surprise. 

“Indeed! and did you expect to find Mrs. Montcalm 
here? Now I know that you are not robbers: you are es- 
caped lunatics. 

Hazard turned in bewilderment to the officer. 

“ Is not this Mrs. Montcalm ?^^ he asked. 

“ It certainly is not,^^ said the other, emphatically; 
“ barring the yellow hair and the white skin and the way 
she carries her head, she is no more like Mrs. Montcalm 
than you are.^^ 

“ It is false cried Hazard; “it must be. You never 
knew the woman. Speak, you two,'’^ turning to the police- 
men, “ you say you both knew Mrs. Montcalm; is not this 
she?^^ 

“It is not,^^ replied both in the same breath. “ Mrs. 
Montcalm was taller than this lady,^^ added one of the 


kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 259 

men; and older-looking — not the same by a long jump. I 
can swear to that. 

‘‘ Of course you can/’ said the deputy. If this is the 
woman you spied on, your reasons for suspicion fall to the 
ground; and all wc’yc got to do is to apologize and get out 
of here.'’^ 

Hazard was bitterly disappointed, bitterly mortified. 
Defeat was hard for him to bear. 

‘‘ The devil he burst out, turning his back upon the 
woman in blue. Apologize to her; a woman who hides 
from the light of day and receives a hypocritical — 

He stopped short. He had suddenly caught a view of 
Kildee^s face and figure in the long mirror. Instantly, 
through the association of ideas, it flashed upon him who 
she was. Just so, in that blonde wig and a trailing blue 
dress had she looked when he peeped into the stage dress- 
ing-room at Eock ISprings to say good-bye to her and saw 
her (in the mirror), dressed as the Countess in the ‘‘ Lover^s 
Test,^'’ and waiting to be summoned to the stage. 

As swiftly as the recollection came he wheeled and looked 
straight into her face. 

‘‘You are Kildee,''^ he cried; “you are Max^s pro- 
tegee. 

At his first words she changed countenance, but she 
quickly recovered herself. 

“lam Kildee, she. said. 

“ Max has been looking for you everywhere. He begged 
me to hunt for you here. I have found you, but it will 
not be pleasant for him to know how.” 

“ What do you mean?^’ faltered Kildee. 

For the first time she had a sense of the construction that 
might be put upon the position she had placed herself in 
through her loyalty to her friend. 

Hazard smiled with a sad bitterness. Suddenly his face 
darkened with a scowl. 

“ Ask that man,"^ he cried. 


260 KILDEE; OK^ the SPHmX OF THE RED HOUSE. 

His eyes were turned to the door. Kildee looked around 
and saw Heatlicliff. 

The mayor took in the scene at a glance — Hazard^s scorn- 
ful look, Kildee ^s burning blush — but he did not compre- 
hend its import. He saw that Kildee was troubled. 

‘MVhat do you mean by your presence herer^^ he de- 
manded, turning to Hazard. ‘‘ I have heard from Miss 
Faust why you came. You have failed in your object, why 
do you linger to annoy this lady?^^ 

Hazard Hall made a mock obeisance. 

‘‘ We have failed of one object/^ he said, but we have 
succeeded in another. We came thinking to secure a crim- 
inal and to unmask a hypocrite. We have failed in the 
one part of our purpose; we have succeeded in the other. 
I am sorry because of this girl, whom I knew, but for 
you— 

Heathcliff ’s face grew suddenly white and troubled. He 
comprehended Hazard^s meaning. He understood the 
wrong his little friend had done herself through her gener- 
ous impulse to help him. And he had permitted it; inno- 
cently, it is true, but he felt the keen thrust of self-re- 
proach. There was but one way to remedy the wrong. He 
stepped to Kildee ^s side; he took her hand in his; he fixed 
his grave, stern eyes upon young Hall. 

I pass over your contemptuous barking at me,^^ he 
said, ‘‘ not for your sake, however. But you shall not by 
your insinuation insult this lady — my betrothed wife. Ee- 
tract that insinuation at once.^^ 

‘‘ Your betrothed wife!’^ Hazard repeated the words in 
utter amazement. Then you were playing false to — 
Silence, sir. I did not ask you to address another word 
to me. I demanded that you retract your implied insult 
to this lady — my intended wife. , 

Hazard Hall bit his lip till the blood came, in his effort 
to control his anger that boiled under the cool scorn of 
Heathcliff^s eye. But he was not devoid of manliness. 


KILDEE; ORy THE SPHIKX OF THE RED HOUSE. 261 

‘‘I do retract/^ he said at last^ turning to Kildee. 

Not at the command of that haughty man, but for your 
sake, little Kildee. I gladly take back any implied detrac- 
tion of you. Forgive me, and pardon my intrusion here. 
Good-night.’^ 

He bowed before the silent, statuesque girl and quitted 
the room. The others followed. Kildee and Heathcliff 
were left in the Sphinxes boudoir. 


CHAPTER XXXIH. 

For a moment neither spoke. Heathcliff still held her 
hand. She made a motion to withdraw it, and this move- 
ment aroused him. He felt now that her hand was trem- 
bling; he clasped it more closely, and turned to her. 

My child,'’^ he said, I did very wrong to allow you to 
put yourself in this false position. 

It was my own act,^^-she answered; you did not even 
know what I intended doing. 

I guessed it, yet I did not try to hinder you. I was so 
troubled for her, I caught at your little hand, so generously 
held out to help, and gave no thought to what might be tlie 
consequences to you.'’ ^ 

Do not think of it now; do not blame yourself. I 
know I have not done wrong! I ought not to mind if it 
seems wrong to others. He said he would tell M — my 
friends. They will not believe it, and if they do — I — 

Her voice trembled and broke. 

Kildee,^"' interposed Heathcliff, quickly Did you 
not understand? No one can think anything wrong noiv. 
1 had a right to visit my betrothed — to keep her retired if 
I liked and it pleased her. You will pardon my presump- 
tion in saying what I did to Hazard Hall. It was best.'’^ 

I am sorry you said it, Mr. Heathcliff. 

Why, Kildee?-'^ 


2(j2 kildee; oE;, the sphinx of the bed house. 

It was not true. I did not feel afraid of letting the 
truth stand as it was. Some time they would have known 
I had not done wrong. 

I could not let you hear the burden of the doubt, Kil- 
dee. And I thought — I hoped — you might make it true. ^ ^ 
She looked up at him with wide eyes. Every shade of 
color had gone from her face. 

You did not mean — She began and stopped. The 
color came in a warm tide, melting over cheeks and brow. 
He laid his hands lightly on her shoulders. 

Kildee, he said, did you think I tried to shield you 
with a sham? Did you think I took the sacred word 
‘ wife ^ on my lips in mere subterfuge? I own that I spoke 
on a moment ^s impulse, that I spoke to shield you; but I 
meant my words to stand true — if you would permit it.^^ 

I will not permit it,^^ she cried. 

He saw that she was strongly agitated — that she shrunk 
from him. 

I see I have presumed too far,^^ he said sadly. ‘"lam 
too old, too grave for you, my bright little one. But, Kil- 
dee, listen to me. I do not ask you to love me. I will not 
hold you bound to me in fact. Though you take the mar- 
riage vow, you shall be free as before. I only wish you 
to bear my name as a safe-guard; I only ask for the right 
to protect and care for you.^^ 

“ To bear your name — your honored name, Mr. Heath- 
cliff! Do you forget I have no name, no family? I am 
only a waif. Ko, no; I could not let you sacrifice yourself 
to a mistaken sense of honor. 

“ And if I told you — looking into your true eyes as I do 
now — that it was no sacrifice; that I held you in your 
sweet-souled, unstained maidenhood a fit match for any 
man under the arch of heaven? But, child, be frank with 
me. Even to shield you, I will not urge you to do a thing 
that revolts you. It is not fair in me, perhaps, to ask you 
to link your fresh young life to my worn and saddened one. 


kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 263 

If you had a home, if you had parents or even a guardian, 

I wo^ld not ask it. But you are alone. It is not a bright 
lot I offer you as my wife, little one, but it is, I hope, a 
safe one. In my home you shall have the truest care and 
shelter.''^ 

And you — she said, looking up witli wistful, search- 
ing eyes. Would it make you happier to have me there 
— in your home?^^ 

It would, Kildee. 

She put her hand in his without a word. He drew her 
to him and kissed her forehead with grave tenderness. 
When he looked up. Miss Faust stood before them. He 
led Kildee to her, and said: 

This little girl will stay with you until I claim her for 
my own. She is to be my wife.^^ 

Miss Faust looked at him in silent amazement. 

Your wife!^^ she said at length. ‘^Is she, then, 
Miss— 

She is Kildee. You have often heard me speak of 

her. 

Miss Faust darted a swift, keen look into his eyes through 
her pale-green glasses. But she could not read their cloud- 
ed depths. Then her glance searched Kildee^s face. She 
noted its changing color, the unsteadiness of the lips, the 
quiver of the eyelids. She went up to the girl and put an 
arm about her slim waist. 

I will take what care I can of her for your sake, and . 
for hers. I will never forget what she has done to-night. 
She comes to a gloomy house, but she knows its wretched 
secret; and she does not shrink from me,’^ she said softly, 
for Kildee ^s head lay against her bosom. 

Heathcliff touched the little head caressingly. 

She is weary, he said. It is late. Take her with 
you, dear, and see that she goes to bed at once. I will sit 
here awhile. Good-night, little friend; sleep sweetly, and 
have no bad dreams.'’^ 


264 KILDEE; OE^ THE SPHINX OF THE EED HOUSE. 

But it was long before Kildee slept. Miss Faust had 
taken her, not to the fine pearl-and-gold chamber, but to a 
less pretentious bedroom with quaintly carved foreign fur- 
niture. She lay wakeful, thinking of the strange changes 
in her life — of this last strangest change of all. She could 
not make it real. It seemed a dream to her — all the oc- 
currences of this night. The coming in disguise to the 
mysterious Red House, the meeting with its unfortunate 
mistress, the role she, Kildee, had assumed with such out- 
ward self-assurance and such a fiuttering heart, the en- 
counter with Hazard and his cruel taunt; more than all it 
seemed dream-like to recall the words Mayor Heathclilf 
had spoken. Had he really called her his wife that would 
be? Had his lips really pressed her forehead? Had he 
said he loved her? Ko, he had not said that — not once. 
His manner to her had been kind., tender even, but it was 
tenderness that had in it no passion nor rapture. Yet, 
had he not said her presence in his home would make him 
happier? That should be enough. It was enough. It was 
more than she- had ever dreamed she should hear. I 
could not expect a noble, wise man like him to love me 
only as he does. I will be blessed beyond my deserving if 
I can make him happier, murmured Kildee; and she 
presently slept with her arm thrown above her head, its 
round whiteness half buried in her short, dark curls. 

Miss Faust found her so when she stole into the room a 
little later with her soft, gliding step. She stopped by the 
bed, shading the dim lamp with her hand, and looked for 
more than a minute at the sleeping girl. 

She is little more than a child, she said; “but there 
is strength as well as sweetness in her face. Yet he does 
not love her. He is broken-hearted for the loss of the 
woman he still loves. 

She had just said good-nightto Heathchtf and had looked 
after his retreating form as he j^assed down the tree- 
shadowed walk. She had gone out to him where he sat in 


kildee; oe, the sphikx of the eed house. 265 

the dark, on the narrow iron balcony that jutted out from 
one of the windows of the boudoir. As she stole, unper- 
ceived to his side, she heard him sigh heavil}^ She came 
up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. 

What is this you have done, Ira? You were to marry 
Miss Montcalm. It was to be in less than a week; and 
now you say ifc is to be this girl. Has Honor Montcalm 
taken back her promiser^^ 

“ Do not ask me. DonH question me about it, dear. 
It does not matter. 

It does matter. Do I not see that you are miserable? 
And only last night you were so happy. There has come a 
terrible change, and I feel that is through me, miserable 
being that I am, born always to cast a shadow. Have I 
not been the cause? Ah, you will not speak. I know 
without your answer. It is because of me that Miss Mont- 
calm has broken her promise; it is because of me that you 
are going to marry this girl you do not love. You will 
marry her as compensation for what she did to-night, or 
because it was compromising her. At the bottom of all 
there is the same cause — my own blighting and blighted 
self. Ira, why should I continue to hang like a poisonous 
fungus upon your life? Let me end it — let this miserable 
mummery cease. I have no right to jeopardize your safety, 
to destroy your happiness, your hard-earned good name. 
I will quit this house to-morrow night. I care not what be- 
comes of me afterward. It has been a criminal weakness 
and cowardice that has made me stay here just to lean on 
you.^^ 

It has been by my advice; it has been for the best. It 
will continue to be for the best. Kildee has saved us. 
Through her stratagem suspicion had been disarmed. Her 
presence here accounts for what has been seen and heard; 
it will account for what may be seen here in the future, 
though we must be more cautious. Do not be morbid, my 
darling. After a time it will be safe to leave this place with 


266 kildee; ok, the sphinx of the red house. 

all the miserable memories it has for you and for me. We 
will go to a foreign land — you, Kildee, and I — and forget 
the dark trials we have passed through here.*^^ 

‘‘ But the sacrifices you make for me — oh, Ira, they — 

They are made willingly. What we do for love’s sake, 
though it be bitter, has a sweetness of its own. Come, it 
is time I had left you— time you were in bed. Do not 
grieve over the inevitable. I have always gloried in your 
strength of soul, your philosophic resignation to the must 
be. Do not let me find you weak at this late hour.” 

I am weak. I am so tired of the struggle. Eorgive 
me. ” 

She threw herself on his breast sobbing stormily. Kot 
for long. She soon controlled her emotion. She lifted 
herself from his arms. 

I will not give way again,” she said, ‘^forgive me. 
Come; I will go with you to the door and give you the 
duplicate key to the gate. You forgot and left it last 
night.” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

At nine o’clock next morning Honor was alone in her 
room. The excitement of pride and of that full draught 
of scorn she had drunk had sustained her as strong wine 
might do. But this stimulus was now dying out. She 
rose this morning after a wakeful night and faced life under 
its changed conditions, and she found that all the bright- 
ness of hope had gone out of it for her. How could she live 
on without the love that had been her happiness and her 
glory She had not only lost that love, but she had lost 
her faith in a man she had so believed in, so honored. Her 
soul cried out after this lost belief in one who had stood for 
her as the type of strong and unstained manhood. How 
could she believe any one worthy since he had proved false? 
Could she trust his face again? She saw his face before her 


kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 267 

now: the grave gentleness of the mouth, the calm, firm 
brow, the eyes that seemed to prison some intense, sad 
yearning. She had thought that touch of sadness was the 
shadow left by early struggle and privation; was it, instead, 
the shadow of hidden but conscious guilt — guilt artfully 
cloaked by that fair semblance of integrity which had de- 
ceived all men? 

Could it indeed be guilt? Might not this apparent 
revelation be all a wretched mistake. She was ready to 
catch at any straw of hope. Might not that lighted tableau 
she had seen thrown on the background of night and storm 
be a delusion; some trick wrought by Hazard Hall to bring 
about his double purpose, political and personal? Might 
not she and her lover be. the victims of a plot to separate 
them at this late hour when they were all but united? 

Should she not have given Heath cliff an opportunity to 
defend himself, to explain? Explain! She broke into a 
laugh of bitter self -irony. What was there to explain? 
Had she not seen his falsehood with her own eyes? Was 
there a shadow of reason to doubt that she had been mis- 
taken in what she had seen, or in the inference her own 
reason had compelled her to draw? 

Was this the strength of mind her father had so praised 
in her? This weak clinging to a vague impracticable hope, 
this willingness to be beguiled into believing that her own 
vision, her own reason had played her false and not the 
man she loved? 

She arraigned herself sternly for this pitiable weakness. 
She called will and pride to her aid. She. was appalled to 
find how little they could do to stem the current of anguish 
and hopelessness that threatened to overflow her life. 

I loved him so! I leaned so on his grand strength; 
what can T-do without him!^^ was the^cry of her heart. 

And this was the woman who had said so calmly, and so 
f uljy believed, that when the root of respect died the flower 
of love died with it. 


208 kildee; oe^, the sphikx of the ked house. 

A servant came in with a card. 

I told you I could see no one/^ she said, rebukingly. 

I did tell him them same words, but he said you would 
see him. It^s Mr. Hall. He^s just come from your 
father ^s study. He wrote something on the card.'^^ 

She glanced at the bit of pasteboard in her hand : 

I have news for you,^^ was penciled upon it. A faint 
wave of color came into her marble cheeks. The news 
must refer to Heathcliff. 

I will see him; go and tell him so,^^ she said to the 
servant. 

She took no time to make any change in her toilet — only 
to bind her white wrapper with a black cord at the waist — 
before she went down to the drawing-room where Hazard 
waited.. 

She stopped at the door and looked at him a moment 
unseen. She was studying a miniature held open in his 
hand. She recognized the case. The housekeeper had 
brought it to her father that very morning. It was the 
picture of Laura Montcalm which the general had flung 
from the window. The housekeeper, who had picked it up 
and forgotten where she had put it, had at last found it. 
General Montcalm had given it to Hazard as he was leaving 
the library, saying: 

There ^s that JezebeTs picture if it will be of any use to 
you. DonT open it before me. I should be tempted to 
crush the she-deviFs face into bits with one blow of my fist. 

It looked like anything but the face of a she-devil or 
a murderess. Hazard thought, as he bent over the picture 
admiring the sensitive, delicately chiseled features, the 
earnest brow, the proud, sweet mouth. 

“ Those eyes seem to rebuke one for thinking of wicked- 
ness in connection with their owner, he said to himself. 
‘‘ But of course she was guilty. Looks count for nothing 
as indication of character. Women particularly can smile 
and murder while they smile,^’ added the youthful cynic. 


kildee; oe, the sphtkx of the red house. 269 

Honor had approached within a few feet of him before 
he was aware of her presence. He looked up, colored and 
rose, bowing in some confusion. Never had she seemed so 
stately, so unapproachable. 

“ You wished to see me for some special reasons?^ ^ she 
asked. She had taken no notice of his proffered hand. 

I had something to tell you I thought would interest 
you. • The Red House was visited with a search-warrant 
last night. 

^^Well?^^ 

‘"The visit resulted in nothing. The search was soon 
ended. It was discovered that Laura Montcalm was not 
concealed in the house — never had been. 

A faint glow stained Honoris snowy throat and cheek, 
but she made no comment. She looked at Hazard, waiting 
for him to continue speaking; but he was watching her. 
He chafed at her immobility. He said to himself he would 
force her to show the interest she must surely feel. He re- 
mained silent, and, turning to the table, played with some 
lilies in a red Venetian vase. ^At last she said: 

“ There was then no woman in the Red House but Miss 
Faust? 

He raised his eyes, and fixed them on her face. 

“Yes, there was another. The woman we saw night 
before last — the graceful blonde woman who received 
Heathcliff in the little boudoir. She was there last night, 
wearing the same blue dress, waiting the same visitor. 

He could not detect any agitation in the beautiful white 
face, not a quiver of the facial muscles. 

“ Who was this woman?^^ she asked, after another pause. 

“ She is a Miss Gonzalis, an actress formerly; now she is 
Heathcliff^ s — 

She started slightly; she flashed a look at him; a warn- 
ing of latent lightnings lay in her eyes. Would he dare 
tell her what this woman was to the man she had so lately 
honored? Yet her second glance was expectant. She felt 


270 kildee; or^ the sphinx oe the red house. 

she must hear it. She had a morbid longing to have her 
heart pierced by the worst she could know of his falsehood 
and dishonor. 

Hazard finished his sentence. 

‘‘ She is now Mr. Heathcliff^s intended wife.^^ 

Wife!^^ 

She could not help repeating it. It had gone through 
her so sharply. She had not expected to hear that word. 

‘‘ How do you know this?^'’ she asked, presently. 

“ From his own assertion. He made it to me in the 
presence of three men who were with me. We had him 
cornered. He was forced to show his colors, hypocritical 
scoundrel that he has been all this while."^^ 

Honoris face flushed hotly. She turned upon Hazard. 

Upon what grounds do you apply such epithets to Mr. 
Heathcliff?^^ she said. 

He looked at her amazed. 

Can you ask? Was he not engaged to you — soon to be 
married to you?^^ 

That engagement has Keen broken off.^^ 

When? To-day, perhaps. Not last night, when he 
made that announcement. You had not seen him nor 
communicated with him. Your father told me so.^^ 

Hazard knew nothing of the short interview between 
Honor and Heathcliff in Mrs. Blair^s little sitting-room. 

Yes, the engagement had been broken off then, Mr. 
Heathclilf was free, if he chose to speak those words of the 
lady he had been visiting — the guest of his friend. Miss 
Faust. 

Her icy tones, her calm, controlled look exasperated 
Hazard. He wanted to ask how long th^ engagement had 
been broken off between the two, but her cold demeanor 
checked him. He could not understand her. He did not 
know that in spite of her bleeding heart, her shattered 
ideal and her own conviction of Heathcliff^s baseness, she 
could not bear to have him lowered in the eyes of another. 


kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 271 

She could not allow Hazard Hall to exult in Heathcliff’s 
downfall from integrity. This was not the effect Hazard 
had thought to produce by his account of the night visit to 
the Eed House and its result. He had looked for angry 
scorn and wounded half-revealed anguish, in which he 
might venture to sympathize. He had looked for some 
moment of softness and approachability in which he might 
whisper his readiness to avenge or to console. He had not 
looked for the phase she was now exhibiting. 

Then, you do not hold that Heathcliff has acted 
treacherously toward you?^^ he burst out at last. 

I have no opinion to give in the matter,^ ^ she answered 
in the same even, cold tones. I prefer not to discuss it 
with you now, nor ever.^^ 

‘‘ But if your father knew of the woman whoni — 

“ He will not know,^^ she interrupted; unless you act 
treacherously, and break your word.""^ 

She had approached the piano. She seated herself be- 
fore it now, and without waiting for his reply, she dashed 
into the first stormy bars of a bravura. 

When she stopped playing lie took his leave, puzzled and 
dissatisfied at the result of the interview. Did she still 
love Heathcliff? Did she still believe in his honor? Had 
she possi bly released him from his engagement days before? 
Was it possible for him to win her? It had never seemed 
so hopeless as to-night. Could she love any one — snow 
statue that she appeared? He stopped a moment in the 
street to listen to her. She was playing and singing some 
brilliant opera air. Suddenly she stopped. 

He could not tell why. He could not see the proud head 
suddenly drop on the out-thrown arms, and hear the cry. 
Oh, I did love him! I can not hate him. What shall I 
do?^^ burst from her proud, half -broken heart. 


272 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

Oarleon^s old chums were completely at sea with re- 
gard to him. He no longer came among them. He 
treated their advances with cool indifference; he took no 
part in his old diversions. Yet he had not gone over to 
the moral side. He made no effort to gain the good will 
of that class. On the contrary, he brusquely repelled the 
members of various religious and moral societies, who ap- 
proached in the hope to win over a formidable opponent, a 
man of strong character and large means. He showed no 
disposition to enter society or politics. So he continued to 
be a puzzle. His parasites were alarmed. They had 
always endured his sarcasms for the sake of his bounty, 
but now they could rarely gain access to him, to bore or 
flatter him into bestowing favors. When they did gain an 
audience, the grim irony with which he treated their flat- 
teries and the contempt with which he granted their re- 
q^uests, galled even their toady souls. 

He sat tliis morning in his little gem of a library at the 
Wallport Hotel. He wore a dressing-gown of soft Chinese 
silk — curious crimson flgures on a dark cream ground; but 
his disordered hair, his haggard cheeks and the lines on the 
brow beneath the tasseled smoking-cap, betrayed how little 
thought he gave to his appearance. 

He had had several callers this morning. Two of Gen- 
eral Montcalm^s chief backers, with Hazard Hall in tow, 
had approached him on the subject of money to run the 
campaign in the interest of the newly brought-out candi- 
date. He signed a check for a tolerably liberal amount 
and tossed it to them, astounding them by saying: 

This — because I agreed to help in the erent of Mont- 
calm’s running. But, understand me, if your policy 


KILDEE; the SPHIHX of the liEH HOUSE. 273 

promises protection to gamblers and liquor sellers, don^t 
count me in for another cent. 

Whew!^^ uttered one of the men. Do you go back 
on yourself that way? The gambling and liquor business 
have helped to make your fortune. What do you mean 
by shutting down on them now?^^ 

I want to give the devil a little rest: thak's all. Ihn 
in earnest though, as youTl find out. Good-morning, gen- 
tlemen, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. 

His next visitor was a woman. She came thickly veiled 
and muffled. When the door closed behind her, she threw 
up her veil, revealing a pretty but careworn face. She 
unfastened the loose wrap and it dropped to the floor, 
showing a slim, stylish figure, cheaply but coquettishly 
dressed. She was Annie Greer, the- prettiest shop-girl in 
Wallport. Six months ago her laughing eyes and elastic 
step had attracted Oarleon. He had showed a languid in- 
terest in her, which she had discouraged, knowing well 
what attention from Carleon meant. Things seemed to 
have gone wrong with her since then; for her cheek had 
lost its lovely oval, and the tint upon it was artificial. 

But under the rouge the color came now, as she said 
with a nervous laugh: 

Mr. Carleon, I had a struggle with myself before I 
could come to you. My little sister fell sick this summer; 
I stopped to wait on her and lost my place. I am in debt 
and worried to death. I know you will help me. You 
were kind to me once, and I — I didnT take it as gratefully 
as I ought. 

You repulsed me; you gave me to understand that you 
thought I meant no good,^^ Carleon said. 

I — yes, I did. But I was proud. I was doing pretty 
well: trouble hadnT come to me. I am sorry I treated 
you so. 

You think, then, that if I should help you now, it 
would be for better motives?^ ^ he asked, eying her keenly. 


274 kildee; or, the sphiis^x of the red house. 

Her lids dropped. 

I don^t — don^t know/^ she stammered. Then she 
laughed recklessly. I^m not so particular now/ ^ she said, 
her cheeks crimsoning. When a girl has knocked about 
weeks and weeks, begging work, and has slaved and starved 
and seen the creature she loves dying under her eyes for 
want of decent food and medicine, it kills all pride in her, 
sure. She doesnH care what comes if she can dodge the 
wolf of want — and so — 

And so she walks into the lion^s jaws,^^ he said grimly. 

The girl looked at him in amazement. 

She decks herself in her poor faded ribbons and flowers, 
and comes to sacrifice herself, silly lamb,^^ he said in a 
gentler tone. 

Tears rushed to the girTs eyes. 

How much do you owe?^^ he asked. 

Twenty dollars. 

What relations have you?^^ 

Only my little sister and an old grandmother who 
lives in the country on a small 

What are you doing now?^^ 

Nothing; but I have the promise of a place as waitress 
in a saloon if I could dress like — 

Let it alone. Take that little sister of yours into the 
country to the old grandmother^s farm. Stay there and 
go to raising silk, or hone}^ or hops, or something; or 
marry some honest young farmer. DonT come back here. 
I will help you on these conditions; promise me.^^ 

Oh, I will do as you say, and glad enough, sir. I wish 
I never had come away. 

There He laid two bills of a hundred dollars each in 
her trembling palm. This will pay your debt and give 
you a little start in your country business. Now go; go 
at once. Don^t try to blind yourself. 

He pushed her through the door to avoid hearing the 
eager thanks uttered in the midst of her crying. 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 27 o 

God bless you, sir,^^ he heard her sob, as he closed the 
door. He flung himself into a seat. 

What a world he sneered. How sick I am of it 
all — the devourers and the devoured. 

His face grew softer. 

‘‘God bless you, he repeated. “ That was the same 
prayer little Kildee uttered in my behalf. Vain prayer, 
my sweet one! Ah, how sweet the lips that murmured it! 

“ I told you not to come with another card or message to 
me to-day. I don^t want to see any one,^^ Carleon said to 
his servant, Wilkes, who had just opened the door and 
stood as though about to announce a visitor. 

“ I told that man so, but he wouldn^t mind it; said he 
was bound to see you/^ 

“ Go and tell him so again. 

Wilkes went away, but was back in another minute. 

“ Man says he must see you, sir; says he^s got a message 
for you from somebody that thinks a mighty heap of 
you. 

“Thinks a mighty heap of me !^^ Carleon repeated de- 
risively. “ I know people who think a mighty heap of my 
pocket-book; but of me/ Faugh! The fellow is a lunatic. 
Send him away. Ko, hold on. What sort of a man is he?^^ 

“ Jes common-looking sir. Clothes last yearns fashion; 
hair cut out of the style. Got a mighty independent look 
out of his eye though. 

“ Bring him here.^^ 

A possibility had occurred to Carleon. Might not the 
message be from Kildee? He had missed her from the fruit- 
shop, and haunting around Factory Eow, he had failed to 
find her there. Perhaps she was ill; perhaps she had sent 
some word to him by one of the working-men. It was 
hardly probable she would send to him; and yet she had 
seemed less shy of him at their late meetings. She had 
seemed touched by the love he could not' help showing in 
everv look and tone. 

3-2d half. 


276 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

He was roused from his musing by the sound of a 
resonant voice he remembered well, exclaiming: 

How do you find yourself to-day, brother?^ ^ 

Sam Brown stood in the door- way. Carleon^s face dark* 
ened. 

‘‘ I told you not to come to see me,^^ he said. 

But I told you I would come, you remember, and here 
I arn,^^ said the other. 

What is your business; let me know it at once. Yon 
had a message for me, you said. 

I have a message from your best friend. 

Go on. Who is the friend?^^ 

The Lord.^^ 

Carleon turned on him with angry eyes. 

Your impudence is supreme,^ ^ he said. I am in no 
mood to tolerate you this morning. 

You are in the mood to need my message. It is one 
of love and peace. You are unhappy. Y’ou are devouring 
your very heart with self-disgust. You hate your present 
self, your old life. Your face is ready to turn the right 
way, but you are deep-sjink in the Slough of Despond, and 
you willfully shut your eyes to the hand that is held out to 
you. ’’ 

Will you take yourself and your threadbare cant out of 
this room, or shall I have to put you outr^^ 

ITl go as soon as I have delivered my message, not be* 
fore.^" 

WeTl see,^^ Carleon said, advancing a step toward his 
unwelcome visitor, and fixing on him a threatening eye. 

Yes, weTl see,^^ returned Sam Brown, firmly planting 
himself against the closed door. YouVe either got to 
listen to me, or to lick me — one or the other. I We got 
no weapon, never carried one of the things; but IWe got 
this pair of hard-hitters the good Lord give me, and if you 
want to try your white fists against Wm instead of sitting 
down and lettin^ me talk to you like a man and a brother^ 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 277 

why come on. Promise me, though, that if I whip you 
you^ll listen to me peaceably. ^ ^ 

He rolled back his coat-sleeves from his brawny hands 
and sinewy wrists and looked at Carleon, quietly deter- 
mined. Carleon eyed him a minute with a mixture of 
sur2)rise, anger and amused curiosity. ’ Finally, with a 
smile softening the corners of his mouth, he said: 

‘‘You are a lunatic. I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to 
knock you down. Why do you think yourself called on to 
deliver me this imperative message?” 

“ Because I am impressed by God to do it. Because I 
am made to feel that you are one of His chosen — that He 
needs you. He has called you. You are miserable because 
you will not heed His voice.” 

“ You are wofully mistaken.^’ 

“ I can’t be. There has a change come over you. You 
are disgusted with your old pursuits. You are repentant.” 

“It is false,” cried Carleon. “I am not repentant. 
I hate such weakness.” 

“ What then is the cause of the change that has come 
over you? If it is not aroused conscience, what then is 
it?” 

I’ll tell you what it is,” said Carleon fiercely. “ To 
get rid of you, and put such wild notions out of your head. 
I’ll tell you. It is love; not conscience, repentance, nor 
any such evangelically promising influence, but just love 
for a woman, a mere child who shrinks from me because I 
am not of your canting kind. I despise myself for this 
weakness, but all the same I am miserable. I hate myself 
because a simple, narrow girl doesn’t think me worthy to 
be loved. Now you have it.” 

Sam Brown stood for a minute looking into Carleon’s 
eyes. Interest, curiosity, sympathy were expressed in his 
rugged face. 

“ Be it so,” he said. “ God may speak through a wom- 
an, as he spoke through Balaam’s ass.” 


278 kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red house. 

His solemn earnestness of speech^ and the comparison of 
a woman with an ass, would have struck Carleon ludicrous- 
ly at any other time. He only said: 

Then you do not like women?^^ 

On the contrary I honor them. But this particular 
woman is only the Lord^s angel in your case. She has 
troubled the waters of your life that your soul may go 
down and be healed. Love has done this; but now its 
work is finished. Shake it off; there are things more real 
for you. Eouse up, my brother, come over to our side and 
find peace and happiness. 

In psalm-singing and self-glorification; in worship of- 
a God who made sin and made man too weak to resist it, 
then punishes him for yielding? Excuse me. Parson 
Brown. 

Who wants you to sit down to psalm-singing and self- 
glorification? Who says God made sin? I doiiT know 
who created the devil, but he is here, and is fighting against 
God, and the fight is a drawn battle so far. God calls out 
for recruits. God wants standard-bearers and leaders. My 
brother, it is your destiny to be a captain in the cause. 
Don^t kick against it. Come on, God needs such men as 
you — bold, strong spirits, scarred with the deviPs chains 
that they have broke and so proved their strength. We 
want such men, for the battle thickens. The devil has 
grown bolder and more cunning with the years since he 
made this green ball his battle-ground. He is fianking us 
on every side; he is trying to carry our fortifications with 
stratagems; he is ^eking to silence our batteries by creep- 
ing up behind. We need you, and I^’ll have you, with 
God^s help, in spite of the devil. Come over. Find hap- 
piness in constant struggle as I do, constant fight against 
the powers of darkness. Oh, I too have been wounded. I 
understand your nature. Fve got one like it. I'm not 
refined and educated like you, but I was made in a mold 
something like you, and I miderstand your temptations. 


kildee; ok^ the sphi^stx of the red house. 279^ 

IVe gone through the same sort of trials. I\e worn the- 
devirs chains. They are silk at first, but iron in the end. 
And I^m afraid of my old master yet. I know the sound 
of his voice, and I tremble lest I answer it. My safety is 
to keep in the thick of the fight. Come, brother, and help 
me. Throw off every weight that holds you back. Give 
your money to the Church or to some benevolent purpose,-: 
tear passion out of your heart with the strong hand of will.. 
Come to the cause empty-handed, while though scarred 
with the wounds that tell of conquest over self. The fight 
thickens, I tell you. All the powers of darkness are gath- 
ered for a mighty charge upon the Prince of Light. I hear 
the nearing thunders of a stormier battle, but there are high 
hearts that beat the drum of defiance. Brother, I leave my 
message with you. Think of it. Let it sound in your ears 
in the solemn night-time. Earthly riches are dross; earthly 
passion burns itself out like a fiame. Beauty goes like a 
shadow, fame is a star that soon sets, but the soul, the soul 
lives on. The conflict between good and evil goes on, and 
he who wields a sword in the cause of God adds to the stat- 
ure of his eternal soul and to the souls of men — liis broth- 
ers. Let the shadows go by, my friend, turn your back on 
the past, come into the battle-field where eternal issues are 
contending. Brother, I have delivered my message; I am 
ready to leave you now."^^ 

He ended with a smile of solemn sweetness. Carleon was 
silent. The man had stood before him like a prophet of 
old. His rugged face became transfigured as he spoke, his 
voice was like some deeply vibrant harp. His eye, intense, 
deep-glowing, held Carleon with its gaze. It was impossi- 
ble not to fall under the infiuence of this man in the mo- 
ments when the commonplace dropped from him as a 
garment burned away by the white heat of his enthu- 
siasm. 

The sneer died on Carleon^s lips. What fanatical non- 
sense he essayed to utter, but the words did not come. 


^80 kildee; oe, the svumx or the red house. 

He was silent, as Sam Brown laid his rough hand on his . 
arm, and sinking his voice to a whisper, said : 

Good-bye, my brother; God be with you, and win you 
over to Himself/^ 


CHAPTEE XXX VL 

It was nearly time for the curtain to rise when Hazard 
entered the theater. The new^ building was filled from pit 
to gallery. Seats for the members of the press had, how- 
over, been reserved, and the representative of The Eat- 
tler made his way to a place in front of the stage. The 
orchestra was playing an overture, and among the musicians 
was Max Eubin. His fair curls, and the peculiar pose of 
his head and play of his arm, as he handled the bow of his 
violoncello made him known to Hazard, even before he saw 
the face of this friend he really liked so well. 

Hazard had already seen Kildee. A whisper from his 
neighbor drew the attention of the girl as she sat in the 
mayor^s handsome box, whose rose-silk flutings and lace 
draperies made a fitting frame for her rich, delicate face. 
To this face Hazard turned his opera-glass, the instant after 
he had recognized Max among the orchestra performers. 
He saw that she looked pale and disturbed; he saw that her 
eyes were bent in a wistful, intent way on the young musi- 
cian, and in his impetuous way he jumped at a con- 
clusion. ^ 

‘‘ She does not love Heathcliff,^^ he said to himself. 

She loves Max, who found her a starving waif a;nd took 
care of her. The poor fellow worships her, and he ought 
to have her. ITl heljD him to get her, too. Never mind 
if it does exasperate my lord-mayor. He will find that 
money can’t buy him everything. 

Again he searched the girPs face through the magnify- 
ing lens. Yes, she scarcely looked pale, and her dark eyes 


kildee; or^ the sphikx of the red house. 281 

seemed to rest sadly and yearningly on Max, who had not 
yet seen her. The conclusion Hazard had drawn appeared 
quite .reasonable to himself. He could not know of the 
hard trial Kildee had had that afternoon in Mme.- 
Jean^s ice-cream parlor— of the struggle with herself and 
the bitterness of the renunciation she had determined on. 
He could not know that the words: She threw herself on 
his sympathy; he will marry her through pity; the mar- 
riage is absurd; it will blight his soical and political pros- 
pects/^ rang in her ears above the music of all these sweet- 
toned instruments. He could not guess what a weary^ 
home-sick longing came over her as she saw Max sitting 
there, and remembered her old life of wandering and make- 
shift and merriment; of cares sweetened with love, and fun 
and happy comradeship. When she had first caught sight 
of his blonde head, her heart gave a great throb and she 
half sprung from her seat. 

It is Max! Oh, it is Max!^^ she said, in an eager 
whisper. Then she remembered the many eyes that were 
upon her; she turned and met Heathcliff^s kind but slightly 
restraining look, and she sunk back on her seat with hot 
cheeks. 

/You shall go to them when the play is over,^^ the 
mayor said, reassuringly. It is likely your friend Lottie 
is here too; I see the name Carlotta on the programme. 

In the second scene Lottie made her appearance. She 
was dressed as a French peasant, and looked roguish and 
pretty. Kildee^ s heart beat fast, her eyes filled with tears. 
It was well for her composure that Lottie did not see, or, 
at least, did not recognize her. W^hen the curtain fell on 
the first act. Hazard, with a reporter^'s privilege, went be- 
hind the scenes. He came plump upon M. Ducciole, other- 
wise Duck, who had a part in the next scene as an antiquat- 
ed beau, and was gotten up in powdered wig and shoe- 
buckles. The Professor of Shakespeare received him with 
open arms, and took him at once to see Lottie. That little* 


^82 KILDEE; OR;, the sphinx of the red house. 

lady was in her dressing-room, touching up her eyebrows 
preparatory to putting on a fresh bodice, but she responded 
to her father^ s call, snatched a lace shawl and wrapped her- 
self in it and opened the door. 

Dear me, it is Hazard, she cried, her blushes eclips- 
ing her rouge. I saw you in the crowd, sir, and flung 
you a sly kiss which I don^t think you noticed, you were 
staring so at somebody in one of the boxes — a woman, of 
course. I^m glad to see you; you look well; quite the 
political dandy. But your face has some lines on it which 
were not there last June when you said good-bye to us that 
night at the wretched little hall in that little town — Eock 
Springs — was its name? All, none of our folks will soon 
forget that town, or that night. You left us before the 
play was over; do you know that Kildee^s mother was there 
and recognized her, and took her away from us? It broke 
us all up in our business, and nearly broke our hearts too 
to give up the darling child. She was just like our own, 
you know. Poor Max, he took it terribly. He followed her 
right away, but he missed flnding her. And it^s dreadfully 
strange, distressed as she was at parting with us, she has 
never written one line — never. I wrote and wrote to Wall- 
port, where her mother said they would be, but not a word 
in reply. 

Perhaps she was not permitted to write or to receive 
your letters. 

It must be so. I know what a dear, loving little creat- 
ure she was. I suppose that woman, who had such a con- 
venient way of forgetting she had a child until she took a 
fancy to remember it — I suppose she objected to Kildee’s 
holding any communication with the friends that had taken 
care of her. Max has been tramping the country over try- 
ing to find her, until he spent his last dollar, poor, dear 
goose!^^ Lottie said, shaking her head. 

Well, he need not look any further,^^ said Hazard. 

He has seen her, or he will see her. Why, Max, old fel- 


kildee; oe^ the sphinx of the eed house. 283 

low, how are you? What’s the matter with you?” h-e 
broke off. 

Max’s face had appeared at the door, a white, dazed look 
upon it. 

Hazard,^’ he said, speaking huskily. “Who is that 
in the box with Mayor Heathcliff? They told me the man 
was Mayor Heathcliff. The girl, they said, was his — bride,, 
or that she was to be married to him soon. But she looked 
— I had only -a glimpse at her face; she drew back in the 
shadow of the curtain — but the looked — like Kildee.” 

“ She is Kildee, Max.” 

“ Where has she been all this time? Where is her 
mother?” 

“ I don’t know where in the mischief she has been; and 
I have never seen her mother. I had not seen Tier until, a 
week ago, I met her in a strange kind of way. I had no 
conversation with her then, and have not had since. She 
is Heathcliff’s protegee, and I have nothing to do with, 
him.” 

“ How came she under his care?” 

“ I can’t tell you; it’s all a puzzle to me.” 

“ And is she to — marry him?” 

“ So they say; so he says; somehow I don’t think it’s her 
wish. She looks unhappy to-night, and she watches you 
and Lottie in a wistful way.” 

“ Little darling!” cried Lottie. “ I feel sure she cares 
for us. I want to find out all this mystery. I must see 
her this very night. Hazard, can’t you get that high- 
mighty personage to bring her to us behind the scenes when 
the play is over?” 

“ I’ll bring her myself,” said Hazard. “ I’ll bring her 
in spite of him.” 

“ Goodness, there’s the bell for the curtain to rise, and I 
go on so soon and not a bit ready, ” cried Lottie, darting 
away. “ Now go this minute, both of you. Be sure you 
bring Kildee, Hazard.” 


284 KILDEE; OR, THE SPHINX OF THE RED HOUSE. 

Five minutes afterward Lottie tripped on the stage and 
launched into an animated dialogue with the villain of th^ 
play, whose plots against the lovely prima it was her part 
to detect while pretending to be his ally. In the midst of 
her arch posing, she threw a glance at the mayor^s box, 
caught Kildee^s eye, and flung her two quick kisses. Kil- 
dee smiled radiantly, but the next instant the shadow set- 
tled in her eyes. She looked with sad yearning at Lottie’s 
happy face. She could see no change there, while she — ah I 
the old merry life seemed so far. She was such a happy 
child then; noiu she was a woman. Love and sorrow had 
ripened her so soon — too soon. 

She became conscious that Heathcliff was looking down 
at her with questioning sympathy. He did not understand 
w^hat she was feeling, but he saw that the sight of her old 
friends had affected her profoundly. He bent down and 
w^hispered : 

‘‘ You will speak with them to-night, and to-morrow you 
shall go to see them. They are to stay a day, and j)lay 
again before they leave. 

The curtain fell on the last act, and in a second Hazard 
Hall was at the door of the mayor^s box. He glanced at 
Heathcliff and slightly nodded as he passed in. He ap- 
proached Kildee, bowed and handed her the bouquet she 
had nearly forgotten. 

I am commissioned by our mutual friends, he said,* 

to bring you to them behind the scenes. 

He extended his hand to take hers, but Heathcliff inter- 
posed. 

I will spare you the trouble of accompanying Miss Gon- 
zalis,^^ he said, in his quiet, cold way. 

He took Kildee^s hand and laid it on his arm. He 
passed Hazard without noticing him further, and led Kil- 
dee through the door that opened into the apartments and 
passages known as ‘ ‘ behind the scenes. 

Lottie w as on the w^atch for her. She came flying to her 


kildee; ok^ the sphii^x of the ked house. 285 

in the short peasant dress. Heathcliff drew back and stood 
leaning against the wall outside of hearing of what they 
might say. Lottie caught Kildee in her arms, laughing 
and crying at once. Then she held the girl off from her 
and cried : 

Ah, how you have changed! You have grown a little 
lady — a little queen. But you always had that stately way* 
Za Petite Princesse you know Max used to call you.^^ 

Where is Maxr^^ 

‘‘ Why, he was here just now — Max! where has he van- 
ished 

Max was standing out of sight behind the scenery, where 
he had stopped when he saw Kildee. He wanted to give 
himself a little time that he might meet her calmly. 

Lotta went on: Max, poor fellow, has been searching 
for you everywhere, half crazy because he couldnT find a 
bit of clew to your whereabouts. He wrote and wrote, but 
not a line from you.^^ 

I wrote many letters. They were all destroyed and 
yours never reached me. I could not mail or get my let- 
ters myself. I was on an island — kept there against my 
will.^^ 

And your mother — 

She was not my mother. She deceived me. Oh, I 
have suffered a great deal. I thought I had no friend; 
none; but the good God befriended me. He sent me a 
kind protector. 

You mean that grand-looking gentleman who came 
with you?^^ 

Yes; Mr. Heathcliff. He is mayor of the city and will 
probably be governor of the state. 

And he will marry you, Kildee? It is like a fairy tale. 

Kildee^s face suddenly paled. 

Who told you so?^^ she asked tremulously. There 
is no assurance of such a thing. I am not fit to be the 
wife of* Mr. Heathcliff.-’’ 


:286 kildee; oK;, the sphinx of the ked house. 

‘^You are fit to be the wife of a king/ ^ cried Lottie. 

Is she noL Max?^^ 

Max had drawn near them^ but he stood hesitating, look- 
ing at Kildee. He was pale and his face bore witness of an 
inward tumult. She turned and saw him, a flash of pleas- 
ure went over her features and she came to him holding 
out her hands. 

Oh, Max! how glad I am to see you!^^ He did not 
reply. He did not embrace her, to Lottie^s indignant sur- 
prise. He held her hands and looked at her. His look was 
m earnest and sad that Kildee^s eyes filled. She said: 

Do you find me changed, Max?^^ 

Yes, you are changed, much changed for the short 
while,^^ he answered. 

But she^s all the sweeter for it; why don^t you tell her 
so, stupid, cried Lottie, tapping him sharply with her fan. 

He was still looking at Kildee. 

^ ' You have suffered,^^ he said; I heard you tell Lottie 
so. But — ^you are happy now. You are quite happy he 
repeated, changing the assertion into an inquiry. 

His intense look made her eyes falter. 

I have every reason to be content, she said after 
iiwhile. I have friends who surround me with all kind- 
ness. 

Mr. Heathcliff is-^^ 

He is a good, true man,^^ said Kildee earnestly. You 
must know him. He will perhaps come with me to-mor- 
row to see you.^^ 

Do not bring him,^^ Max burst forth. Let us have 
you with us that little while just as you used to be.^^ 

There was a depth of emotion in his voice that surprised 
Kildee. She had alwa3^s known him as light-hearted. He 
must have had some trouble she thought, and she looked 
a-t him anxiously. What she saw in his eyes, made her 
breath come quickly. She turned away. 

They are beginning to put out the lights, she said. 


TvIldtit:; or, the sphinx of the red house. 287 

Yes/^ answered Lottie. We will say good-night to 
y6u now, and to-morrow morning you will come to us, and 
we will have such a chat as will remind you of the dear old 
times. Mamma is at the hotel; she had her ancient enemy, 
neuralgia, this evening, and papa hurried back to her like 
a dutiful sposoy'^bs soon as he had been run through by 
Count Algerian's sword. Come early, dear; you know we 
have a matinee at two. 

Heathcliff had stood out of hearing of what had been 
said, but he had been keenly, though quietly observant. 
He had seen Max^s agitation, and had interpreted it. 

He loves her,^^ he said to himself — ‘‘not in the 
brother-like fashion she told me of. She was not aware of 
this deeper feeling; but it is plain to me. Hoes she not re- 
spond to it? — unconsciously, perhaps. He is very hand- 
some, with his frank blue eyes and sunny hair. Does she 
love him? She was very much agitated tq-night. Is it 
possible that in trying to do her good, I have come between 
this child and her happiness?^^ 

The thought troubled him. The idea that Kildee loved 
another somehow made him feel more desolate. It was as 
though there was no love for him anywhere. He had been 
fancying that he could make some sunshine for himself out 
of the affection this sweet, rich young spirit could give him 
when she was his wife, and now — ! But his trouble was 
mostly for her. 

“ If she really cares for him, I will not interpose my 
selfish wish between them,^^ he said; and he determined to 
lead Kildee to confide in him. 

As they drove homeward through the balmy night, cooled 
vdth dews and lighted with stars, he said: 

“ Now you may talk to me on that important matter you 
were going to tell me about this afternoon. What is it, my 
bird?^^ 

At his words — at the question which brought up all she 
had gone through this afternoon and the still bitterer trial 


288 kildee; ok^ the sphinx of the ked house. 

of renanciation which she had yet to go through, she trem- 
bled like a caught bird. She tried to answer, but stam- 
mered something incoherent; and was silent. 

Speak freely, my child, he said reassuringly. Ee- 
member it is your interest I have most at heart. 

But you must not have my interests most at heart, 
Mr. Heathclilf, she found voice to say. ‘‘You must 
not let your care of them injure your own interests. 

“ What do you mean, little one?^^ 

“You have asked me to marry you soon, Mr. Heath- 
clilfr^^ 

“ Yes, Kildee. Day after to-morrow — Sunday — in the 
old church under the pines where I have been a worshiper 
so long — whose shadow falls over my mother^ s grave. Do 
you shrink from it, Kildee? Are you perfectly content to 
become my wife?^^ 

“ Ko, Mr. Heathcliff.^^ 

“ I feared as much,^^ he said, gently. “ Well, tell mo 
all, dear child. Do not think I shall reproach you. It 
was not much to expect that you should love me — when 
there — 

“ Oh, it is not that, dear friend. But I am not worthy 
to be your wife. You, in your kindness and pity are will- 
ing to take me as I am, but I am not willing to spoil your 
good, useful life. You overlook my defects, but others see 
them and know that I am no fit mate for you.^^ 

“ Is that all, Kildee?^" 

“Oh! is it not enough — enough? Do you think lean 
consent to let you suffer for your own kindly meant act? 
This marriage will injure you socially and politically.*^^ 

“ You said that in a parrot-like way, little bird. You 
have been hearing some foolish gossip. Confess now. 

She made no answer. 

“ And it has wounded you to the heart. Miserable med- 
dlers! DonT care for them, little one. They chatter as 
the blackbirds do for very emptiness of head. Listen to> 


KILDEE; OR;, THE SPHIHX OF THE RED HOUSE. 289 

me, Kildee. This marriage is a matter between ourselves. 
There is but one question in it for me. I will 23ut it to you 
as directly as possible; and you must look into your heart 
and answer it truly. Will you?^^ 

Yes/^ she was constrained to answer. 

Well then/ ^ and his hand closed firmly on herS;, ‘Ms 
there any one you love better than you love me; any one 
you had rather marry if the other conditions were the 
same:^^ 

“ There is not/^ she was constrained to answer, and the 
next breath she regretted having so answered, for it made 
useless all further argument from her against the marriage. 
He carried her hand to his lips, and then pressing it against 
liis cheek said: 

“ Then trouble yourself no more about the matter, my 
child. . 

“ But you — ^ she ventured to say wistfully. She would 
have.given much to be able to ask: 

“ Do you not love another better, oh, far better than 
poor little me? Are you not going to marry me with your 
heart filled with her image? — thus sealing your unhappi- 
ness and miner 

But timidity withheld her. She stood in awe of him; 
he was so much older and wiser than she. 

“ I have told you that it would make me happier to have 
you in my home,^^ he answered, and then the carriage 
stopped. 

He saw her safely within the doors of the Eed House, and 
left her with that light, tender, passionless kiss on her 
brow. 


290 kildee; or^, the sphii^x of the red house. 


OHAPTEE XXXVIL 

So Kildee went alone to see her friends. Mrs. Duck 
gathered her to her broad, motherly bosom; the professor 
blessed her and rejoiced over her in his finest stage-father 
manner, the boys came about her — handsome, darkly mus- 
tached fellows- — Lottie fluttered around her, putting touches 
to her hair and ribbons, and giving her little delighted 
hugs. 

Presently she found herself seated in a basket»chair in the 
middle of the characteristically disordered room — the 
center of a little circle of love and petting and affectionate 
curiosity, answering a dozen questions, some of which were 
very trying to her. For Max stood a little aloof, pretend- 
ing to mend the strings of Lottie’s guitar that had to be 
used in the afternoon performance — and his sad blue eyes 
were fixed often on her face — the eyes in which she had 
last night read his secret. She had never suspected it 
before; but then she had not loved. Love teaches us 
wisdom. 

She felt a pang that was like remorse when she saw the 
anxious look on that face she had always seen beaming with 
happy good nature. He joined but little in the conversa- 
tion. He was a poor hand to dissemble, and his look 
when Kildee^s marriage was spoken of would have betrayed 
him to any one. 

When is it to be, pet? It seems no secret that you are 
to make this grand marriage; you will not mind telling us 
when it will take place, Mrs. Duck had asked. 

Kildee hesitated, and her pale face and troubled voice 
when she spoke were unlike those of a prospective bride. 

To-morrow — she answered — ‘‘ So it has been ap- 
pointed; but — 

Hut what, dear child 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 291 

Oh! I don^fc feel that it will ever happen. It ought 
not to — no, it ought never to be. 

Mrs. Duck looked at her in surprise, hut Lottie appar* 
ently solved the doubt 

She doesn-^t think she is good enough to be a governor's 
wife — little timid goose. Now if it was me, there might 
be some reason in being oppressed by the weight of 

“ ‘ An honor unto which I was not born;’ 
but Kildee was always a little princess in disguise, 

‘ ‘ Nothing she said or did 
But smacked of something greater — ’ 

than a strolling little play actress. She can wear the pur- 
ple (figuratively; purple wouldn^t be becoming to her com- 
plexion as a matter of fact) right royally. Goodness, just 
think of it! a governor's bride. Why, it would turn my 
head. Yet, I don^t know if I wouldn^t be happier as I 
am with my art and my freedom. Fin a born vagabond, 
you see — a wolf of the wilds of Bohemia. I couldn^t wear 
a tame dog collar though it was set with diamonds. ^ ^ 

As she spoke, and as they all prattled around her, and 
she heard once more the merry laughter and the affection- 
ate teasing .and the professional slang, Kildee felt a half 
longing to be back once more with these old comrades in 
the vagabond, care-free life she m ust put far behind her to- 
morrow, when she entered that new stately existence. Max 
saw that wistful look in her eyes and noted the hesitating 
way she had spoken of her marriage, and he drew from 
them a wild hope. 

What if she does not care for Mayor Heathcliff,^^ he 
said to himself: if she only promised to marry him be- 
cause he was kind to her, and she seemed to have no other 
friend. What if she would be willing to draw back now — 
even at this late hour. She is truth itself; if she has come 
to understand her own heart to-day she will not take a vow 


^92 kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 

on her lips she feels is not true. I must see her alone. I 
must find out her real feelings. If she does not shrink 
from this marriage, as she seems to me to do, it should not 
take place. 

He roused himself from his reverie. Kildee was going. 
He came close to her and said low: 

May I see you to-night — an hour before the perform- 
ance?^^ 

His eyes were more pleading even than his tones. Kil- 
dee could not resist them. She felt that the interview he 
asked would be painful to both, and yet she said : 

I will see you.^^ 

Ko one observed the little by-play but Mrs. Duck. She 
understood it. With the sympathetic instinct of her moth- 
erly heart, she had penetrated Max^s secret. Lottie was 
preoccupied. Hazard had called and she was happy. He 
stayed and accompanied her to the theater for the matinee 
play. 

From a convenient loop-hole, they surveyed the audience. 

Who is the beautiful girl in white lace and pale blue?^^ 
asked Lottie. I saw her last night. 

She is the daughter of General Montcalm, answered 
Hazard; the most beautiful woman I ever saw, and the 
proudest. And yet, like most women, she lets love subdue 
her pride and conquer her pitiably,^ ^ he added. 

There was so much bitterness in his tones that Lottie 
was moved with surprise and jealousy. She turned and 
looked at him questioningly. His dark face was moody. 
He had seen Honor Montcalm^ s eyes turn again and again 
to the mayor^s box, which, however, remained empty. He 
had watched her last night, and, by more than one subtle 
token, he had known how keenly she suffered seeing Heath- 
cliff seated beside the girl who, as was now well known, 
would shortly be his wife. 

The matinee was over, the lovely October afternoon 
wore toward evening. A splendid sunset kindled its fii’es 


kildee; ok/the sphinx oe the red house. 293 

and faded. Max Rubin, standing on the sea-shore^ 
watched the crimson pale into cold ashen purple, while he 
waited impatiently for the hour of his visit to come. It 
came. He hurried to the Red House, but Kildee had re- 
ceived a summons which gave a new turn to her life. The 
interview took place, but under circumstances far different 
from what either had imagined. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Seven o^clock. Kildee heard the vibrating strokes of 
the city clock as she walked back and forth in the darkly 
shaded, massive-pillared veranda of the Red House. 

The evening had set in stormily. The sun "at setting 
dropped from behind a lid of heavy clouds, lit the world 
for a moment with a lurid, blood-red blaze and disap- 
peared. The cloud-lid shut darkly down, now and then a 
tongue of red fire leaped from its blackness. A wind 
sprung up and increased in violence, but no rain fell. 

Kildee was restless. Did she feel in her prophetic con- 
sciousness that some crisis of her fate was at hand? To- 
morrow was her marriage-day. The wedding-dress had 
been sent h6me only an hour ago. 

Go to your room and see what you will find there, 
Miss Faust had said to her, gliding up suddenly behind 
her, as she sat at a window lost in a reverie which was not 
all sweet. She went. The window-blinds were closed, 
shutting out the gloomy twilight. Two wax lights lit the 
room mellowly; and on the pale blue silk coverlid of the 
bed lay the bridal dress, white and delicate and dream- 
like as the spray mist of a mountain water-fall. 

She stood and looked at it in silence. She tried to pict- 
ure herself enveloped in all that fleecy lace and satin stand- 
ing beside Ira Heathcliff in the dim grand old church 
where his mother had worshiped and where her dead 


294 kildee; ok, the sphijsX of the ked house. 

body had lain, standing beside him as his bride, hearing 
him swear in the presence of the white-robed priest and 
listening assembly to love and cherish her while life should 
last. She could not make the picture seem real. Some 
inner voice seemed whispering low: It will never be. 
Fate will interfere, as once before. 

She shut the white dream out of her sight behind the 
doors of her armoire, and quitted the wax-lighted room for 
the dark, cool veranda. The gloom of the tree shadows 
and ivy- vines near, of the clouds and gathering tempest 
afar were far more congenial to her mood. As the clock 
struck seven she suddenly remembered the impending inter- 
view with Max — remembered it with a thrill of pain. She 
felt sure he had wrongly interpreted her hesitation and lack 
of happy responsiveness whenever her approaching mar- 
riage with Heathclitf had been spoken of. He had drawn 
the inference that the marriage was repugnant to her; 
that only her unfriended condition and her gratitude for 
Heathcliff^s kindness had brought about the engagement. 
He had founded hopes for himself on this belief. He was 
coming to-night to urge them — Max, to whom she owed so 
much — her guardian, her brother, her ‘‘little papa,^^ as 
she had called him when a child. It would be hard to give 
him pain; she loved him so dearly. Blue-eyed, merry, 
truthful, tender Max. She might have cared for him as 
he wished had she remained with the troupe, had there 
never occurred that eventful break in her life. But now — 
she wished he had not come again. She wished she had 
not seen that he loved her. The revelation had come to 
her suddenly and with a shock of pain. She must unde- 
ceive him as soon and as tenderly as she could. And then 
she thought, “ I might not have been so ready to do this 
last night. When I saw Max and Lottie while yet these 
cruel words I heard at Madame Jean^s were piercing my 
heart, I was tempted to go to them and ask them to take 
me back under their care, to give me some of the old work 


kildee; ok^ the sphinx of the bed house. 29o 

to do; but after what happened in the ride home I could 
not do it. I had not courage to put aside this new sweet 
happiness, though I fear^ oh! I fear it is based on a delu- 
sion. But he was so kind and tender last night, and he is 
so true. Surely he would not let me deceive myself with 
the thought that he cares for me when he does not. And 
if he loved me, I would not mind the talk of other people. 
He would not mind it. He is strong enough to be what he 
wills in spite of their misjudging gossip. I can not — 

She stopped short in her promenade in the dark veranda. 
A footstep crunched the gravel of the walk close by. She 
had not heard the peculiar ring of the gate-bell or Caleb^s 
Shufiling tread going to answer. Only Heathcliff had a 
duplicate key to the gate. Then it was he; she was glad. 
His voice would dispel the doubts that had again begun to 
gather. But Max! he had asked to see her alone. 

She came to meet her visitor. He recognized the slight 
shape dimly outlined as it was. 

Kildee, he said, I am glad to find you at once. 
You and I are called to see a dying woman to-night, at 
^Factory Row. She writes that she has something impor- 
tant to communicate — something that concerns you — your 
early life and parentage. This is the substance of the two 
or three scrawled lines dictated by her and taken down by 
Mrs. Betts. The note came half an hour ago, but I was 
out. Get your hat and wrap and come at once; we may be 
too late.""^ 

Kildee ^s hands trembled so she could hardly fasten the 
dark wrap she threw around her. Her early life, her par- 
ents, was she about to hear the mystery of her birth solved 
at last? She remembered how strangely this woman had 
looked at her when she (Kildee) first came to nurse her at 
Kactory Row; how she had questioned her about her child- 
hood, and had seemed singularly interested and agitated 
when she had learned the peculiar circumstances of Kil- 
dee^s early life. 


296 kildee; oe^ the sphi^v^x of the red house. 

V I am ready^^^ she said, coming out on the veranda^^ 
after hardly a minute^s absence. Heathclitf took her hand 
and they walked rapidly to the gate, which he opened and 
then locked behind them. His carriage waited outside; as 
they were entering it, a cab was driven to the gate, and 
Max leaped out. ’ The light of the carriage lamps shone 
on Kildee^s face and he uttered an exclamation of surprise 
and reproach. She gave him her hand from the carriage 
window. 

I am called to see a friend who is very ill — dying,^^ 
she said. She had no time to say more; the horses sprung 
forward and the carriage was borne swiftly away. 

Max stood a second biting his lip in disappointment.. 
Then he jumped into the cab. 

Follow the carriage, he said to the driver. I wish 
to see where they are going. 

He determined not to be balked of his purpose to see her 
to-night. It was his one poor chance to succeed in break- 
ing off a marriage he believed was repugnant to her. With 
difficulty the driver of the cab kept the carriage in sight. 
Its twinkling lamps were the only guide to its progress 
after it had turned into the narrow, badly lighted Mills 
Street on which the factory and the factory tenement build- 
ings were situated. 

Before one of these houses the carriage stopped, and its 
occupants alighted. The ground-floor of the building was 
used as a shop where provisions and other merchandise 
were sold to the mill hands. A long flight of steps open- 
ing into the street led to the second story, which was occu- 
pied by factory people. Max watched Kildee and Heath- 
cliff ascend the stairs. He noted the place well before he 
ordered the cab to be driven to the theater. He had an 
important part in the opening overture. He would play 
this, but when it was done, he would return to Factory 
Eow. The troupe to which he was attached would leave 
the city at one o^ clock to-night; to-morrow Kildee would 


kildee; or, the sphii^x oe the red house. 297 

belong to another. He must watch his opportunity to 
speak to-night. 

Another beside Max had seen Kildee and Heathcliff leave 
the carriage. Carleon was passing the building at the 
time. He started at recognizing the girl, and stopped in 
the shadow. He had missed her from Mme. Jean^s shop 
for a week, and had been unable to find her at Factory 
Eow. At last he asked Mme. Jean what had become of 
her pretty young assistant. The little lady drew down her 
blonde eyebrows and gave Carleon a sharp look from her 
china-blue eyes. She knew Carleon’s ojld reputation. 

Ma f 01 she said, whatbeesinessgentlenieens askeen 
after prettee gells? La Petite ees good as prettee. She 
finds f reends to take care of her.-^^ 

What friends, Madame Jean? W'here have they taken 
herr^^ 

But Mme. Jean only shook her soft gray curls and be- 
came hard of hearing. She always pretended to be deaf 
when it suited her convenience. 

So Heathcliff is the friend who has taken care of her,^^ 
thought Carleon as he walked on, after watching the girPs 
slight figure disappear up the dark, winding stairway. 
Then he suddenly remembered that the rumor had been 
rife in town all day that the governor prospective was soon 
to marry a very young girl — a relative or a protege of Miss 
Faust, the queer owner of the Eed House. He stopped 
short, and a spasm of pain contracted his brow. 

This must be the girl,^^ he said. He reproached him- 
self for the selfish pang the thought gave him. 

She will be happy. Heathcliff is a splendid fellow. I 
ought to be glad for her sake,^^ he said. And I will be 
glad,^^ he added, setting his teeth and striding on. 

He passed a building, in an upper room of which the 
Working Men^s Club were holding a meeting. He could 
hear some one speaking. He knew the ringing tones as 
Hazard HalFs. He stopped an instant to listen, and 


298 kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 

caught fragments of sentences breathing the seductive 
spirit of Communism, Lion^s share/ ^ Grasping 

monopolists/^ Equal rights of all men to the comforts of 
life, and to a chance to be happy/ ^ Hard times do not 
23ress equally on the rich and poor; if the rich man stints, 
it is in things for show, the poor man must stint in the 
things that are for life. 

There was loud applause when the speech was ended* 
Presently, while Carleon stood leaning against the wall, 
three men came down the steps. They were talking in low, 
excited tones. 

Whilst those fools up there are wasting their breath in 
speechifying weTl be acting, said a curious, falsetto voice, 
which Carleon recognized as belonging to an eccentric, 
cranky individual, known as Nick Woods, or Wild Nick, 
a thin, swarthy man with a black, restless eye, indicating a 
streak of genius, but a crooked streak that could never be 
turned to practical account. He had invented a contrivance 
by which awheel could -be turned by water-power in mid- 
stream without the use of a dam. He had dogged Heath* 
cliff to get him to buy the invention, but Heathcliff doubt- 
ing its practicability refused to purchase it. Nick Woods 
became indignant — furious, and grew so abusive that the 
mayor thrust him from his presence. From this hour, the 
man became Heathcliff^s bitter enemy. In all the club 
meetings he had taken active part. He aspired to be a 
leader, but his extreme views, his • personal acridness, and 
his wild suggestions made even the most disaffected reluc- 
tant to accept as leader a spirit so ultra and reckless. This 
chafed him yet more. His vindictive feelings grew^ 
stronger. His wife had been employed in Heathcliff'^ s 
factory, and her earnings had supported them both. He 
took her away because of his hatred to the mayor; then, 
when he missed the good food her wages had bought and 
wished her to go back her place was filled. He visited 
this upon Heathcliff^s head and denounced the mill-owner 


kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 299 

as a heartless oppressor and extortioner. He was ready for 
any mad- act to gratify his revengeful feeling, and he had 
succeeded in getting a small following~a few ignorant, 
besotted creatures whom Hazard Halhs communistic elo- 
quence had stirred up to do something, they knew not what, 
to express their sense of the injustice done them by the 
rich, and their resolve to stand by their rights. 

It was this Isick Woods and two of his followers who 
eame down the steps talking in excited half whispers as 
Carleon stood against the wall in the dark. 

Everything can be ready by eleven,^ ^ added Nick. 

The night is just right; glorious! It will be a big sight, 
and the Grand Mogul will dance — on his left toe — when he 
sees it. 

They passed on and Carleon reflected on the speech he 
had heard. There was perhaps some mischief on hand. 
Perhaps he ought to put the police on the watch. But 
then Nick Woods was famous for his inconsequent speeches. 
What he had just said might have no serious meaning. 
Carleon would have decided differently had he seen an 
anonymous letter Heathcliff had received to-day, warning 
him that mischief was brewing and begging him to have a 
strict night-watch around the factory. Heathcliff had 
meant to profit by the warning and take the precaution 
suggested, but the summons of Nell Barnes put everything 
else out of his mind. 

The factory, insured for but little over half its value, 
was un watched to-night, and mad Nick Woods and his 
followers had determined that the hour was ripe for deal- 
ing a blow at the rich oppressor. 

Heathcliff found Nell Barnes in her room on the third 
floor of the tenement house. A lamp burned dhnly on 
the mantel-piece. Its light fell on the bony wasted face and 
sunken eyes of the woman, who sat bolt upright in bed 
propped by a chair and pillows. She had dropsy of the 
heart, and could not lie down without a suffocating sensa- 


300 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red housed 

tion. An hour ago, after a fearful paroxysm, her physician 
had told her she might die any minute. She called him 
a fool and ordered him to leave her presence, but she had 
hurriedly dictated two notes and sent them off — one to 
Heathcliff, the other to Honor Montcalm — and she had 
told Mrs. Betts where to *find her burial clothes, and 
charged her not to let her false teeth be taken out when she 
was prepared for the coffin; if she did, she (Nell) would 
come back and haunt her every night, a toothless ghost. 

She turned her preternaturally bright eyes on the mayor 
when he and Kildee entered the room. 

‘‘You took your time to get here,^^ she said, sharply. 
“ You big folks think Heath himself must wait your pleas- 
ure; you^ll miss it some day when he knocks at your door. 
Honor Montcalm, where are you going? Come back.^^ 

A tall figure in a straight, gray wrap had risen from a 
seat in a corner near the bed; a white face looked out from 
a cloud of pale zephyr. 

“ I am going. You are better. You have others to at- 
tend to you,^^ Honor said, in a voice she tried to render 
calm. 

“ My ‘ better ^ is not going to last, I tell you. 1^11 have 
another spell and 1^11 go off in it. And l\e got something 
to say that you must hear. You owe it to me to close my 
dead eyes at least. Your father and you are my only kin 
in this world. You’ve looked down on me, you\e neglect- 
ed me, but you^re my kin still; and these arms nursed you 
when you was a baby. Sit down here, close by me, and 
stay and see me die. You^ve got t6 die yourself one day. 
It mayn^t be long; youh^e as pale as death now.^^ 

Honor was indeed as white as the dress she wore. The 
unexpected sight of Heathcliff; the thought “ He believes 
I came here expecting to see him,^ Miad shaken her self- 
control. She did not look at him, and this the quick eyes 
of Nell Barnes took note of. 

“ What^’s the matter between you two?^^ she said. 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 301 

^^You love eacli other; all the town knows that; what 
business have you quarreling?^^ 

Honor rose once more; her cheeks were red enough now, 
her eyes blazing. Heathclifl interposed before she could 
speak. 

Don^t exhaust yourself with this irrelevant talk/^ he 
said to 'Nell Barnes. You sent for me to hear some im- 
portant communication. You sent for Miss Montcalm, I 
suppose, for the same purpose. Neither of us knew that 
the other would be here. We are ready to listen to your 
communication, if you are strong enough to make it. But 
if it does not concern Miss Montcalm, she — 

It does concern her; it concerns her father. I sent for 
both. I suppose he was afraid to come — afraid I would 
abuse him — on my death-bed. 

I told you he was not in the city,^^ Honor inter- 
posed. 

Well, well, I am hard. May be I^m unjust; it^s easy 
to be unjust to rich folks. I hope it^ll be forgiven to me; 
it ought to be. Nothing oughtn^t to be laid up against me, 
because IVe suffered enough to blot everything. I sinned 
in this thing, though, and I want to make amends. I — 
Kildee, child, you^ll curse me, I reckon, when I — Kildee, 
quick! Hand me my drops; fan me — fan — 

The girl was already at her side plying the fan she had 
taken from Mrs. Betts. She sprung to reach the medicine, 
brought it on the instant; but Nell motioned it away. She 
M^as struggling for breath. Her wasted chest heaved with 
great throes; her face was knotted with agony. Great 
drops of sweat stood on her forehead. Kildee wiped them 
away. She bathed the convulsed face in cold water and 
brandy. Heathcliff supported the relaxed head; and 
Honor, coming forward in this moment of self-forgetful- 
ness, chafed her hands briskly and steadily. 

The fight for life was fearful. It will be the end,;^^ 
thought those about her, but her strong vitality carried her 


302 kildee; or^ the sphikx of the red house. 

through it. The convulsion passed^ but it left her exhaust- 
ed and breathless. When she recovered a little she turned 
to Kildee^ and in broken whispers directed her to open her 
trunk, look in a secret pocket and bring the folded paper 
she would find there. It was brought, and she signed that 
they should bring her ink and pen. She then unfolded the 
paper, and grasping the pen, signed her name in tremulous 
but legible characters. With a motion of the hand and 
lips she indicated her desire that Heathcliff and Miss Mont- 
calm should affix their names as witnesses to her signature.. 
Heathclilf wrote his name and took the paper to Honor- 
She had not understood that she was required to write, and 
she was looking down, wondering what revelation this 
woman could be about to make, when Heathcliff gently 
spoke her name. She started and looked up, saw him 
standing so near her, met the look of his sad, deep eyes, 
and for a moment lost the composure she had struggled to 
preserve. The blood rushed to her brow; her hand shook 
so she could hardly trace her name. Kildee saw it; her 
glance went rapidly, unobtrusively over each face. Nell 
Barnes told the truth,^^ she said to herself. And shall I 
stand between them? No, I must not; I will not.-^^ 

Nell Barnes watched the writing of the witnesses^ names 
with eager eyes. She drew a deep breath of content. 

^^It^s all there, she^ said, pointing to the paper in 
Heathclifl^s hands. I wanted to tell it with my tongue. 
There ^s more written down there than I wanted should 
stand. There ^s some hard things against him — your father. 
Honor Montcalm — and may be they^re too harsh. I hadn’t 
no claim on him but kin — second cousin at that. I hope 
he’ll for — forgive. Kildee.” Her voice softened as she 
turned her head to the girl who sat close to her, fanning 
her softly. ‘‘You must forgive; you mustn’t hate me. 
You’re a good girl. You’ve been good to me and stood 
my crossness. You didn’t know what a wrong I had done 
you, but— well, I want you to know it first and then say 


KILDEE; OE^ the SPHIi^X OF THE EED HOUSE. 303 

you forgive^ if you can. Kead it/’ she said to Heathcliff; 

there^s some hard things^ but — 

Her voice failed^ and she made a quick imperative mo- 
tion of the hand commanding Heathcliff to read the paper 
he held. 

It began with a short sketch of her relationship to Gen- 
eral Montcalm-:— by the mother ^s side. Her father was a 
thriftless, strolling dentist, who died leaving his wife in 
utter poverty. She applied by letter to General Montcalm,, 
who sent her a small sum,""^ and wrote that he could do 
no more just then. Nelks mother died of fever shortly 
after, and she, a girl of eighteen, was taken into General 
Montcalm ^s family, not as an adopted daughter, but as a 
dependent, which she seemed bitterly to resent. She was 
required to do small services in return for her board and 
clothes. She was seldom admitted into the drawing-room, 
or introduced to the grand guests. She found a lover 
though, and was devoted to him; but they needed money to 
marry on. The general refused to furnish it, and told her 
her lover was worthless. The young man finally left her 
and gave his attentions to another girl. She was heart- 
stricken. She laid the disappointment at General Mont- 
calm’s door. In her bitterness she would have done any- 
thing to injure him. Her strongest desires were first to re- 
venge herself upon the Montcalms for her real or fancied 
wrongs, and then to get money enough to quit a place that 
had such miserable associations. One day an evil Fate 
gave her the opportunity to fulfill both these wishes. She 
was returning from a walk; had been taking the generaFs 
little girl, his favorite, to the station to see him go ofi' on a 
short business trip. She stopped on a bridge that spanned 
the river. As shq stood there holding the child in her 
arms gazing at the swift, dark waters below, some one 
touched her arm. She turned and saw a woman with a 
black veil half swept aside from her dark, foreign-looking, 
handsome face. 


304 KILDEE; OR^ THE SPHINX OF THE RED HOESE. 

Whose child is thisr^^ asked the woman^ and Nell an- 
swered that it was Mrs. Montcalm's. 

Was that its father I saw leaving on the train just 
now?"" 

Yes; he was going off with — "" 

I knew it. The child is his image. Do you like 
him:"" the woman interrupted, and Nell answered, im- 
petuously : 

No, I hate him. I hate everybody. I only wish I had 
money to go away where I could never see anybody I had 
ever known. "" 

Here the reading of the paper came to a sudden end. A 
startling interruption came from outside. For some min- 
utes they had heard, without heeding, a hubbub in the 
street a little distance off, hoarse cries, exclamations, and, 
further off, the clang of the fire alarm. But fires were of 
frequent occurrence. They had given it no attention. 
Now, however, a red glare, W’hich, had they not been pre- 
occupied, they might, some time before, have seen stream- 
ing through the closed shutters, increased in brilliancy; 
voices and hurrying feet were heard in the street just 
below. 

It"s Heathcliff"s Mill blazing away like fortj !"" cried 
some one, who was evidently running at the top of his 
speed. 

Heathcliff threw the paper on the table’, and ran to the 
window. He threw open the shutters. The blackness of 
the night was lighted up with lurid radiance. Dark sky, 
gloomy houses and narrow streets glowed in the blood-red 
illumination. The factory was not far off. Heathcliff 
leaned out until he could see the front. Red flames were 
bursting from its windows. He drew" back; his teeth were 
set, his eyes gleamed sternly. 

It is the mill. Those political guerrillas have done their 
work well,"" he muttered. 

The mill had been his pet. He loved every piece of 


kilbee; oe^ the sphikx of the eeh house. 305 


machinery it contained. He took pride in the order and 
perfection of all the appurtenances, no less than in the sub- 
stantial stone and brick building. 

He walked to the table and picked up the roll of paper* 
Honor Montcalm snatched it from his hand. She was in a 
state of high excitement. She felt as though her father 
was responsible for the incendiary deed that had been done 
— as though it affected his honor. The instigators of the 
discontent against Heathcliff were of his clan. ^ She faced 
Heathcliff with wkite cheeks and flashing eyes. 

Go,^^ she said; try to save your property. It can be 
saved; it must be; go.-^^ 

He hesitated. He looked across at Kell Barnes. She 
was once more breathing in labored gasps; another convul- 
sion might be coming on. 

‘‘And leave you two here in this place with a dying 
woman, and with all this uproar going on about you? I 
can not."^^ 

“ You must,^^ cried Honor. 

The roar of voices and of the devouring flames had grown 
louder; the red glare had increased. 

“ Go,^^ she entreated, “ or I will go myself. 

He gave her a look which told her that he understood 
and appreciated what she felt. 

“ I will go/^ he said. “ I shall send Mrs. Betts and her 
husband to you. They will be needed. 

They heard him stop in the hall and speak to the man 
and liis wife. They heard Mrs. Bettses response: 

“ As soon as we kin dress, Mr. Heathcliff and then 
his tread creaked on the stairs, and Honor gave way to a 
single passionate sob. 

The uproar outside increased. In spite of the violent 
wind, they could hear the shouts of excited voices, the rat- 
tle of engines, the quick tones of command. The street 
below was full of hurrying figures. The light of the burn- 
ing factory made every face .plainly visible. Standing at 


306 kildee; or, the sphixx of the red house- 

the window, eagerly watching and listening, Honor saw a 
man run across the street and look back in a wild kind of 
way. He was bare-headed, his long hair was streaming in 
the wind, his movements denoted the wildest excitement. 
It was 'Nick Woods. He had just emerged from the tene- 
mentbuilding, which he had entered with a sinister design, 
or rather impulse; his excitement had reached too high a 
pitch since the fire began to admit of his forming any plan. 
His present actions were the outcome of fanatic madness. 

Honor was listening to the sounds that came from the 
direction of the fire. 

What can be the reason the engines are not subduing 
the flames?^^ she cried. There must be some difficulty 
about the water-pipes. The fire is no doubt spreading. 
The factory is surrounded with wooden buildings. 

What she said was confirmed by the voices of those pass- 
ing in the street below. The firemen, assisted by the crowd, 
were using every endeavor to keep the flames from extend- 
ing to the surrounding buildings. 

A cry from Kildee brought Honor back to the bed. Nell 
Earnests last struggle had begun. It was long and terri- 
ble. The two women forgot everything else in their efforts 
to give what help and ease they could to her in this ghastly 
trial. They did not hear, or at least did not heed what 
went on outside. No one came to their assistance. The 
fire seemed to be the one center of attraction. 

There was no more water in the pitcher, and Kildee went 
to the adjoining room, a sky-lighted closet-like apartment, 
to look for some. She stumbled over something lying in a 
heap upon the floor. . She bent down and found it was a 
female — dead she thought at first, until the alcoholic fumes 
of the breath reached her. She held the lamp close to the 
figure and recognized the face. It was that of a young fac- 
tory girl whom the superintendent had lately turned away 
because of drunkenness and irregular conduct. Kildee 
conjectured that the girl had come into the house in a half- 


kildee; ok^ the sphinx of the eed house. 307 

conscious condition^ found her way into this room instinct- 
ively and dropped into a drunken sleep. 

She had no time now to think of this sinful sister. Slie 
could do no more than put a roll of clothes under her head. 
All her attention was demanded by the dying woman. 
Honor assisted her in silence, and with tremulous hands. 
Death was something the generaks daughter had rarely 
seen. The present experience was a new and dreadful one 
to her, yet she did not shrink from it. 

Moments went by. There was a sudden increase in the 
commotion just outside. The cry of ^^Fire! fire!^^ was 
repeated again. There was a rush of feet overhead and in 
the passage of the tenement house. Some one threw open 
the door and yelled, Fire!^^ Kildee looked inquiringly at 
Honor. 

It is only that another of the buildings around the fac- 
tory has caught on fire,^^ said the elder girl, reassuringly. 

Probably one nearer to this house. There is no occasion 
for present alarm. There are several houses between here 
and the mill.^^ 

As she spoke she rose and shut the door that had been 
flung open. The noises outside grew louder and more con- 
fused; the roaring and crackling sound of flames more audi- 
ble. The air in the room grew thick with smoke. 

The burning house must be nearer than I thought,^^ 
murmured Honor, almost gasping in the stifling atmos- 
phere. The struggles of the dying woman still continued 
and still the girls worked with her, rubbing her with brandy, 
holding her head up and wiping the froth from her lips. 

The roaring of the fire grew louder, the heat, the smoke 
became unbearable, and the uproar of voices in the street 
became deafening. Kildee ran to the door and threw it 
open. She shrieked aloud. The passage was filled with 
thick, blinding smoke. Through it she saw a sight that 
struck terror to her soul — the red glare of flames. She 
groped her way to the head of the stairs. Below was a gulf 

4-2d half. 


308 kildee; ok^ the sphikx of the ked house. 

of fire and smoke. The stairs were in flames. She ran 
back and caught Honor by the arm. 

, We are lost/^ she cried. The house is on fire. All 
below is in flames. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Heathcliff had hurried to the burning factory, but ife 
was too late for his individual exertions to be of any avail. 
The firemen were there with their engines, but before they 
arrived, the flames had gained such headway that they 
could not be checked. Heathcliff could only look on with 
folded arms and stern lips while his property was swept to 
destruction. 

The red, roaring carnival of flame went on within the 
brick walls; scarlet tongues leaped from every window, 
floors fell in, one after another, with deafening crash, until 
the building was crowned and turreted with triumphant 
fire. 

But before this climax was reached, the mayor had ceased 
to contemplate his burning mill. The feeling of humanity, 
so strong in his breast, roused him to the assistance of 
others, The flames were spreading. The wind was whirl- 
ing the red fire-flakes in every direction, the heat was in- 
tense; the utmost exertions of the firemen, assisted by the 
confused, shouting crowd, were insufficient to prevent the 
fire from being communicated to the shops, dwelling-houses 
and other buildings contiguous to the factory. 

The two tenement buildings owned by Heathcliff, he be- 
lieved, were in no immediate danger. They were two 
blocks away from the scene of the fire. Honor and Kildeo 
were safe. 

He threw off his coat, and cheered the workmen by his 
own personal exertions and courage. He mounted to the 
roofs of buildings, knocked off burning shingles, helped to 


kildee; ok, the sphinx of the kei> house. 309 

envelop the smoking walls in web blankets, and when these 
efforts were useless, he assisted to save the property of the 
poor tenants and to soothe the terrified women and children. 

In the midst of the scene of confusion, a terrible cry came 
to his ears. He had a little sobbing child on one arm, 
with the other he supported its pale mother, who had been 
borne out from her sick bed. 

Brown Roost on fire,^^ shouted a voice. 

Another and another took up the cry. 

Heathcliff hastily transferred his charge to others. 
Brown Roost was the name of the tenement house in which 
he had left Kildee and Honor. 

Nick Woods, in his mad malignance, and unknown to 
his accomplices, had fired the building an hour ago, by 
wrenching off a broken shutter from a window on the 
ground-floor— the grocery store — breaking the glass with a 
blow, and throwing in a bag of shavings saturated with coal 
oil. In the darkness of the alley in which he stood, he did 
this without discovery. Returning half an hour after to see 
the progress of his work, he was not satisfied, although 
smoke was pouring from the broken window, and the dull 
roar and glare inside told plainly that the flames were at 
work. He feared the alarm would be given before the fire 
had taken firm hold, and the building be saved. He would 
quicken the progress of the destructive agent. He crept u]i 
the stairs that gave on the street. The rear of the dark 
unlighted passage on the second floor w^as filled with com- 
bustible articles. The tenants had made fit a sort of lum- 
ber-room. Baby cradles and carriages, a painter^s oil can, 
barrels and boxes empty or partly filled with coal and rub- 
bish occupied the space under the staircase which led to 
the third floor — that in which the room of Nell Barnes was 
situated. To saturate those easily kindled articles with oil 
and apply a lighted match was the work of a second. Then 
with a furtive look about him, the incendiary slunk away. 

No one discovered the fire in Brown Roost until it had 


310 kildee; ok^ the sphikx of the eed house. 

begun to rage fiercelj’’ in the lower story; until the flames 
kindled in the rear of the passage had fastened on the wood- 
work and begun to eat their way through the staircase of 
the third story. Attention had been concentrated upon the 
conflagration two blocks away. Every male tenant of the 
Roost, and the greater number of the women, had gone to 
the scene of the burning factory. Other women were en- 
gaged quieting their frightened children. When at length 
it was discovered that the building was on Are, the alarm 
ran from room to room with marvelous quickness. In five 
minutes Brown Roost was vacated by every human being — ► 
except those who were in No. 27 — a woman in the last 
agonies of death, two awe-stricken girls who bent over her, 
paying little heed to the fresh alarm of fire, and the young 
woman who lay in a drunken stupor on the floor of the lit- 
tle dark room.^^ 

When Heathclifl reached the Roost the flames were lick- 
ing their red tongues from every window of the ground- 
floor. A motley throng filled the street in front of the 
building. He sent his eye swiftly over the crowd. 

The women in No. 27 /^ he cried. Nell Barnes and 
the women who were with her, are they safe?^^ 

There was silence for an instant; then a loud hoarse 
voice shouted: 

I burst open the door and hollered to them that the 
house was afire. They didnT ^pear to mind it. They jest 
looked around. I made sure though theyM save them- 
selves; but — 

Heathcliff was already half-way up the first flight of 
stairs. A dozen voices yelled to him : 

‘^You canT get to them. The passage and the stairs 
are all afire. 

Flame and smoke indeed filled the narrow passage. He 
burst through them; the stairs were burning, but not yet 
destroyed. Would they bear his weight? He took no time 
to think. Lowering his head^ and closing his eyes, he 


kildee; ok, the sphikx of the red house. 311 

sprung up the steps through the scorching flames. Dense 
smoke filled the third story hall. He found his way through 
it to the open door of No. 27. Dimly through the smoke 
he saw the faces of the two girls by the bed. They were 
scarcely less ghastly than the face of the just dead woman, 
who sat propped upright with staring eyes and fallen jaw. 

Horror at the sight of that death-scene, the shock of ter- 
ror at the sudden realization of danger, together with the 
stifling smoke, had almost deprived Honor of conscious- 
ness. Kildee was supporting her half -fain ting form and 
trying to rouse her to try to escape. Honor’s white face 
looked death-like to Heathcliff. 

Honor, my darling!” he cried, as his eye fell upon her. 
His voice partly aroused her; she turned her eyes upon 
him; her look was dazed and semi-conscious. 

We will die together,” she murmured. 

I will save you,” he answered. He caught her in his 
arms, hurriedly he drew her shawl about her face and body 
to protect them from the flames. 

Come,” he cried to Kildee. Wrap the blanket there 
around your head. Come.” 

He looked around when at the door. She was not beside 
him. 

Kildee,” he besought. Come for Heaven’s sake. 
We shall be too late. ” 

Go on,” she cried. I will follow you.” 

There was not a second to lose. He pushed on carrying 
his half-conscious burden. He reached the he^ of the 
stairs; below seemed a fiery gulf. The staircase was a 
ladder of fire. He plunged on; through the scorching, 
blistering flames. He felt the half-burned stairs giving 
way beneath his feet, and with one desperate leap, be 
cleared them and reached the landing below. At the same 
instant, the stairs fell in with a dull crash, and the flames 
danced high in their mad glee. 

Honor was safe. But Kildee! 


312 kildee; or^ the sphikx of the red house. 

There is escape by way of the windows/^ was the hope 
that flashed into Heathcliff’s mind as he bore Honor Mont- 
calm down the second-floor flight of stairs and gave her 
in charge of some women. A glance at the burning house 
told him the fire had made fearful progress. The wind 
w^as blowing fiercely, the timbers were dry as tinder from 
the protracted drought; the quantities of inflammable 
material contained in the grocery store — bacon, lard, oil, 
turpentine — had fed the voracious flames. The ground 
story was already consumed, a portion of the u232Der floor 
had fallen in, the walls outside were a mass of fire, and the 
flames were greedily licking the windows of the third story. 
Yet but a few minutes had elapsed since the lire was dis- 
covered. ~No engines or ladders had arrived. Messengers 
had been sent to bring them, but the firemen were all at 
work amid intense excitement at the scene of the earlier 
fire, which was spreading despite their efforts. 

A ladder, a hundred dollars to the man who will bring 
me a ladder, a voice was shouting in strong, ringing 
tones. 

Heathcliff turned and saw Carleon. Bare-headed, death- 
white his face shone in the strong red light of the flames. 
He had just reached the scene of the fire, to which he had 
hurried at the first alarm, remembering that he had seen 
Kildee enter the house two hours before. She was still 
within its blazing walls, so he gathered from the exclama- 
tions of the crowd. He must save her or die in the 
effort. 

Close beside Carleon Heathcliff saw the livid face of Max 
Eubin and the dazed, pitiably woful countenance and 
streaming white hair of St. Peter. 

A ladder was brought; it was placed against the burning 
wall; alas! it was greatly too short. It reached scarcely 
to the second story. 

Carleon sent a glance upward at the flame-wreathed win- 
dows of the room which held the girl — a glance of despair. 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 313 

No face appeared there. Had she been already suffocated 
by the smoke and heat or was she dead of terror? 

Bring on the ladder. Come/^ he suddenly cried. He 
pushed his way through the crowd in the direction of the 
rear of the building, followed by Max and two men who 
bore the ladder. 

There was a cry: The engines are coming 
The crowd gave a joyful shout, but it proved a false re- 
port. Neither engines nor ladders came, though many 
messengers had been sent for them. When they did come 
it would be too late. The people realized this with sicken- 
ing horror. It was probable the girl inside was already 
dead. She gave no sign. In vain the crowd shouted and 
threw stones at the windows. Nothing of her was seen, 
and no sound came from the burning house but the roar 
of destroying flames. 


CHAPTER XL. 

Madge Wilde, the ex-factory girl, still lay upon the 
floor of the dark room attached to No. 27 , The 
tumult in the street, the roar of the fast approaching death 
had not roused her from her drunken stupor. No one 
knew she was there but Kildee. In the moment when the 
girl knew the extremity of her peril and was about to fol- 
low the instinct of self-preservation, the thought of Madge 
had flashed across her mind. 

I can not leave her to be burned to death. I must 
try to save her,^^ was Kildee^s impulse. She ran to the 
prostrate figure on the floor and shook her roughly. With- 
out effect. She dashed water into the fair, bloated face, 
but the girl only started, opened her brown eyes in a dull 
stare, and muttering a few words, sunk back on the floor. 

The smoke had helped to increase her stupor. Sho 
breathed stertorously, like one in an apoplectic fit. Kildee 


* 614 : kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

looked at her in despair. At last she grasped her beneath 
the shoulders, and half lifting her, dragged her into the 
front room, where at least there were windows, and the air 
might help to rouse her. In the effort to drag the dead 
weight, Kildee’s strength was exhausted. She remained 
for a minute gasping for breath in the. thick, hot atmos- 
phere. 

Suddenly the drunken girl half started from her stupor. 
She seemed partially to realize what was going on. She 
tried to rise, but she could not move her limbs. In terri- 
fied half-consciousness she clung to the girl who was losing 
her small chance to escape in her efforts to save this un- 
fortunate. Madge had clutched her; was holding her with 
vise-like grasp. Kildee could hear her name shouted be- 
low, could hear the rattle of stones against the glass thrown 
to attract her to the window, but she could not go; she was 
held in that spasmodic grasp. She tried to cry out, but 
Tier voice failed after a husky utterance. Her throat was 
parched, her strength was gone. The heat, the smoke, 
were suffocating. She felt herself swooning. She tried to 
utter a prayer. She struggled once more to free herself, 
to rouse from her nervelessness. Life seemed suddenly 
very sweet. A little while ago, when she saw her doubts 
confirmed, and knew that Honor Montcalm and not her- 
self was loved by Heathcliff, she had envied the dying Nell 
Barnes, but now young life and hope asserted their strength. 
She saw the flames reaching their red arms in at the win- 
dows, close to the bed where the dead still sat upright and 
stared with glazed, awful eyes. A flame, more daring 
than the rest, caught a fold of the mosquito-bar; in a second 
the bed was in a blaze. Once more a shriek rose to Kil- 
dee^s burning throat, but died there in a feeble croak. Her 
brain swam, thought, pulse failed, and she sunk upon the 
breast of Madge, who still held her with convulsed 
fingers. 

Kildee!’^ 


kilt)ee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 315 

The strong, clear voice touched her failing senses, but it 
seemed the clarion-call of a spirit in some other world. 

Kildee, where are you? I have come to save you. 

She did not recognize the voice. She was too nearly life- 
less, but she tried to answer it, to make some sign, but in 
vain. 

‘‘ Ah, thank God!^^ cried the voice close at her side. 

Strong arms encircled her, tore her from the clutch of 
the factory girl, lifted her tenderly, bore her out of the 
room, down the smoke-filled passage, into which fiames 
were leaping from the hall below, down to the rear end of 
the passage, which terminated in a large double window 
open to the fioor. On the sill of this window rested one 
end of a ladder; the other end was held by two men on the 
flat roof of a building just across the street, or rather across 
the .narrow alley that ran along the rear of the Eoost. It 
was the same ladder which had proved too short to reach 
Nell Earnests room. The men, at Carleon^s command, had 
caughfc it up, ran with it around to the rear alley, carried it 
up to the roof of the store-house opposite the burning Koost, 
and succeeded in projecting it across the space — not twenty 
feet — and lodging it on the sill of the large passage-window. 

Along this frail bridge, vibrating in the wind, and at a 
dizzy height from the ground, Carleon had crossed three 
minutes before, walking with light, quick tread, and 
steadily carried head, while the spectators watched him 
with breathless anxiety. Upon this swaying bridge he now 
stepped again, bearing the unconscious girl. A hush of 
suspense fell upon all who beheld the feat. He could no 
longer balance himself with his arms, he must trust to the 
steadiness of his eye and his nerve. He moved cautiously, 
yet lightly, for the ladder creaked warningly under his feet, 
and quivered when there came a gust of wind. The spec- 
tators watched each step with bated breath. When the last 
was taken, and rescuer and rescued were safe upon the roof, 
a loud huzza of relief and applause burst from their lips. 


S16 KILDEE; OR^ THE'SPHIIhX of the red house. 

Carleon dejDOsited his burden in the waiting arms of Max. 

She has only swooned from heat and terror; take her 
at once to a place where it is cool and quiet/^ he said. 

But you — what are you about to do?^^ cried Max, as 
Carleon turned and again put his foot on the ladder. 

I am going back. There is another woman in the 
burning house. 

Once more he began the perilous passage. This time 
the eyes of the spectators followed him with more confi- 
dence. He reached the middle of the ladder — passed it, 
was almost ready to step upon the window-sill, when a 
round gave way; he lost his balance, tried to regain it, 
failed, wavered an instant and fell. 

The body struck the earth with a heavy thud. It 
moved convulsively an instant, and then lay still. A groan 
of horror burst from the lookers-on. They pressed around 
the prostrate form, so lately proudly erect and full of dar- 
ing grace. They gazed at the white face, and the awe- 
struck whisper ran from one to another: 

‘^Heisdead:^^ 


CHAPTER XLI. 

The rescue of Kildee and the subsequent tragedy had 
been witnessed by comiDaratively few. They had taken 
2)lace in the alley at the back of the Roost, and the crowd 
were in front of the building. They were there absorbed 
in shouting, staring, and making confused efforts to reach 
the third story room in which it was known that a human 
being, a young girl — the ^prospective bride of the mayor — 
was being suffocated, roasted alive. 

The minutes that had elapsed since Heathcliff bore 
Honor from the burning house seemed hours to him, so 
much suspense, agony and futile action had been crowded 
into them. 

Scorched, blistered, and with sprained insteip— the result 


kilbee; or, the sphikx of the reh house. 317 

of his leap from the burning stairs — he had yet wor'ked 
with desperate energy. But the confusion of the crowd 
made them senseless. He had dispatched messenger after 
messenger to bring the fire engines and their life-saving 
hook and ladder accompaniment; he had made repeated 
efforts to reach the already burning windows of No. 27^ 
while he shouted Kildee^s name above the noise of the fire 
and the babel of voices. 

When at length (after moments which seemed an 
eternity) a fire-engine, followed by a hook and ladder 
truck, dashed through the shouting crowd, the windows of 
the third-story were all ablaze. Flames seemed to fill that 
room to which all eyes were directed. No face had 
peared at the window; a single stifled scream had been 
heard ; after that all was still. 

At once the engines began to play upon the windows of 
No. 27. Almost at the same instant the long threatened 
rain, which the wind had held in check — descended in tor- 
rents. The floods from the clouds and the streams from 
the engine-pipes operated to subdue the fire. While it still 
raged, a ladder had been adjusted to one of the windows 
of the third- story apartment and nimble firemen had as- 
cended and made their way into the room. They found 
the bed in a blaze; on the floor beside it lay a woman 
form enveloped in flames. A water-saturated blanket was 
thrown around the body and it was borne down to the 
street. There, in the strong glare, the blanket was 
partially unfolded. A horrible sight was disclosed: a 

blackened, half-consumed body, the clothing destroyed, 
the hair burned, the face raw, literally roasted, features 
partly gone, unrecognizable. But in one clinched hand 
was clasped a watch with a chain attached. Heathcliff 
knew the jewel-studded watch, which was also a case for his 
mother^s picture. He had given it to Kildee only the 
evening before. She had worn it for the first time at the 
theater last night. 


B18 KILDEE; OK;, THE SPHlKX OF THE RED HOUSE. 

He groaned and covered his face. He had not needed 
this confirmation. He knew before that this ghastly ob- 
ject found by the bed of Hell Barnes could be no other 
than the remains of the beautiful^ spirituelle girl who was 
to have been his bride in the morning whose dawn was now 
at hand. 

Hone but Kildee had known of the ex-factory girFs pres- 
ence in Hell Earnests ^^dark room.'’'’ She was nearly the 
size and shape of Kildee; no one doubted that this was the 
corpse of the little nurse who had been well loved in Fac- 
tory Eow. The watch held in the crisped fingers was itself 
sufficient proof. That watch had remained in the grasp 
of the convulsed;, suffocating Madge^ when Oarleon had 
torn Kildee from her. 

Hews of the rescue of a woman from the back part of 
the house had fiashed through the crowd, but little inquir- 
was made concerning the woman. She was a factory hand, 
her family had taken her away. So much was told, but 
further interest in the rescue was lost in horror at Carleon^s 
fate and at the close pressing horror of the doom that had 
overtaken the favorite of Factory Eow on her bridal-day. 


CHAPTEE XLII. 

Im 3IEDIATELY on receiving Kildee in his arms. Max bore 
her down the stairs from the roof of the old building, which, 
though now a store-house, had been long ago an elegant 
j)rivate mansion. From this roof in those days came, on 
moonlit or starry nights, the silvery tinkle of guitars and 
the sweet laughter of the daughters of Dr. Oastally, sitting 
there or promenading with their lovers. 

On reaching the street. Max was fortunate enough to 
find a hack into which he at once put Kildee, who had 
partially revived in the fresher air, and placing himself by 
her side, directed the man to drive to the Marshall House. 


KILDEE; OE, THE SPHINX OF THE EED HOUSE. ' 319 

Before the hotel was reached^ Kildee had recovered and 
was able to walk to Lottie^s room. 

The little actress had neither gone off with the company 
nor yet retired to rest. She was waiting in a little flutter 
of nervous suspense for the something to occur which 
she had declared she felt in her blood ^Mvould happen. 
The rest of the troupe had left on the midnight train, but 
Lottie had decided to stay and learn the issue of that inter- 
view which Max (as he had told her) would have with Kil- 
dee. If Kildee did decide to relinquish her prospect of a 
splendid marriage for the sake of Max and the old stage 
life (Lottie was romantic and thought it possible), then she 
must be here to receive and welcome her darling. She 
made a plausible excuse to the manager and promised to 
leave on the early morning express and join the company 
in time for the evening performance at the town where they 
would play. 

She was up sitting at the window of her room, tapping 
the floor impatiently with her little foot. The fire in the 
city, the glare of the burning buildings, the ringing of 
bells, and shouting had helped to increase her nervousness. 
She jumped up and came swiftly to the door in response to 
Max^s knock. When she saw Kildee she gave a little 
scream of delighted surprise, and embraced her rapturous- 
ly. Then she put her back a little that she might scrutinize 
her face — might see if she looked content after her re- 
nunciation. 

Good heavens, you are pale as death!’^ she cried. 
‘‘ Your hair, your eyes — why, what — 

Hush!’ ^ cried Max. She has just passed the gates 
of death. She was in the burning building. She was 
rescued after she was insensible, nearly dead. Put her to 
bed at once. Postpone all questions; don’t let her talk to 
you. mon enfant, not. a word,” he said, as Kildee 
caught his arm. 

Yes; one word. Max. Tell me, was it you who saved mer” 


320 kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red house. 

No; it was not I. I wanted to go across the ladder, 
but he wouldn^t permit it. He ordered me back, saying 
he was more practiced than 1.^^ 

Who?^^ 

His name was Carleon; do you know him?’^ 

Yes. Oh, Max, I must see him and thank him.^^ 

So you shall. Go to bed now; you are in a fever,^^ 
answered Max hastily. 

He did not want her to know the fate that had befallen 
her rescuer. She was already too much agitated. 

‘ ^ Good-night/^ he said, and he pressed her hand to his lips» 

Lottie took her in hand. She undressed her, bathed her 
burning face in cool rose-water, combed out the tangled 
curls, and put her to bed. 

Now, don^'t lie there letting your mind make wild pict- 
ures, she said, as she leaned over her charge, and kissed 
the quivering lips and eyelids. Be a blank, instan ter; 
I command it; and so remain until morning. 

It was a piece of self-denial on Lottie ^s part, for she was 
dying to know what had passed between Kildee and Max, 
and if the grand-looking mayor had been given up, and if 
there had been a romantic scene. Her imagination was 
busy while she finished her own packing, and laid out her 
traveling-dress ready to put on in the morning. She turned 
then to Kildee^s clothes. She shook out the folds of her 
pretty kilted skirt of dark green and hung it up. She took 
up the basque; a folded paper fell at her feet. She picked 
it up, looked at it, and said to herself: 

Kildee must have had this in the bosom of her dress* 
I will put it away for her.^^ 

She lifted the lid of her trunk, and thrust the paper into 
the pocket of the top. She forgot all about it, and Kildee, 
believing that the paper had dropped from the folds of her 
dress, and been burned, said nothing to remind Lottie of 
finding it. It was the paper that Heathcliff and Honor 
had signed — the testimony relating to Kildee’s birth. 


kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red house. 321 

In the confusion, after the factory was known to be on 
fire, the paper had been swept from the table, and Kildee 
had picked it up from the floor, and thrust it into her 
bosom. 

The little actress was»up betimes next morning, but she 
rose noiselessly, and trijpped about with bird-like move- 
ments, fearing to wake Kildee, who was sleeping peacefully 
at last. Though she lay so quietly all night, Lottie knew 
by her breathing that she had not slept. She saw, too, as 
she looked at her pale face in the morning light, that there 
were traces of tears on her cheeks. 

Perhaps she loved Heathcliff, after all, but she felt 
bound to Max. I wish I knew all about it,^^ thought Lot- 
tie, as she stood before the mirror, gathering up her crinkly, 
nut-brown hair. A boy brought her the morning paper, 
which she had ordered sent to her early, that she might 
read what the saucy dramatic reporter had said of the jflay 
last night, and of her especial role. She had read his pert 
comments, and dismissed them with a toss of her pretty 
nose, and she was reading, with interest, the account of the 
fire, when a soft tap sent her to the door. Max stood 
there, looking excited and feverish, outside the partly 
opened door. 

Is Kildee awake he asked. 

Lottie put her finger on her lip, and shook her head. 

‘ ^ I see you have the morning paper. I wanted to warn 
you against letting Kildee see it — the account of the fire, I 
mean. It contains a shocking incident, for one thing, and 
a ghastly mistake; it announces that Kildee was burned to 
death. 

Why, how did that happen? Didn^t they know she 
was saved ?^^ 

Kobody knew who it was that was rescued. The tene- 
ment house was only half burned, and a body, partly con- 
sumed, was found in the room Kildee is known to have 
been in. The face could not be recognized, but the body 


322 kildee; ok^ the sphihx of the ked house. 

was near Kildee^ s size and shape. She was the only one 
known to have been in the room with the sick woman; and, 
besides — which is a strange circumstance — Kildee^ s watch 
was found on the body of the burned girl. No one doubt- 
ed it was she> it seems. Heathcliff ‘had the body carried to 
his home^ and it will be interred to-day in the family 
burial-plot.^^ 

This is shocking. What distress the poor man must 
be suffering. Of course. Max, you will go at once and tell 
him she is alive and well.'^^ 

Of course, Max echoed, thoughtfully. 

Lottie, called Kildee from, the bed. 

Lottie left Max standing outside the door, and bent over 
the little white face and dark head on the pillow. Kildee 
put her arms around her foster-sister^s neck, and drew her 
close to her. 

Tell Max not to undeceive Mr. Heathcliff,^^ she said. 
Then in answer to the look of amazement in Lottie^s wide 
blue eyes, she whispered: 

‘‘ I do not want him to know. I will go away with you 
this morning, and he will think I am dead, and — 

Her voice faltered. 

You will do this to escape marrying him, Kildee? You 
did not love him, then?^^ 

The girTs pallid face became suffused with color. >She 
drew Lottie closer that the blue eyes might not search 
hers. 

How could a girl like me love one so far above her in 
wisdom and age and position? I was no match for him. 
And then, there was another — 

Ah!^^ Lottie said, another woman?^^ 

Yes; she loves him and he loves her. Through a 
strange chance — I canT tell you what it was — I came be- 
tween them. They will be reunited now; they never would 
be if I should stay. He would marry me through sympa- 
thy and for his word^s sake, and she would have him do it 


kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 323 

because of her pride. It is better that both should think 
me dead. I can be dead to them and to the few who knew 
me here without its mattering any — thanks to my insignifi- 
cance. So tell Max, dear Lottie. Ask him to beg Mr. 
Carleon not to betray that it was I he saved— if indeed he 
recognized me. It seems he did not, or they would have 
known. 

Lottie went back to Max and told him Kildee^s request. 

It doesn-^t seem right, she said gravely. 

But Max was thrilling all over with the thought that 
Kildee was not to be married that day, that she was to go 
away with him — that he was to have his darling back. No 
stratagem should ever get her away from him now. 

You will tell Mr. Carleon, asked Lottie. 

Max sunk his voice to a whisper. 

^^Mr. Carleon would not know, he answered. He 
fell, trying to recross the ladder after he had rescued Kil- 
dee. He was taken up for dead, but was not dead. He 
was alive this morning, the paper says, but insensible, with 
scarce a shadow of hope for him — poor fellow. He acted 
grandly last night. I don^t want Kildee to know of the 
catastrophe until she has recovered from the shock. 

An hour later, Kildee was dressed for traveling— Lottie 
supplying whatever was needed in making her toilet. Lot- 
tie ordered breakfast sent up to them, and persuaded Kil- 
dee to eat something. They put on their hats, Kildee 
tying a veil over her face, and joined Max in the hall. The 
carriage was waiting. He took them out to it. A few 
men who were on the veranda stared at the two ‘‘ well- 
shaped actress girls, none of them suspecting that one of 
these was the supposed victim of the fire they were reading 
about. 

When they were in the carriage, Kildee turned to Max. 

Did you speak to Mr. Carleon? Did he promise — 

Max nodded. 

He will never tell. You need not be afraid,^^ he said. 


324 KILDEE; OK, THE SPHIJiTX OE THE RED HOUSE. 

He did not say that he had written her request and left 
it in a sealed envelope to be given to Oarleon, in case he 
recovered his senses. The man in whose hands he left the 
letter was a minister, who had been praying beside Carleon^s 
bed when Max entered. He was a very unclerical person 
as to dress and looks. He might have passed for a soldier 
in the garb of the io^irgeoisie. His eyes had a restless, re- 
pressed fire in their depths. But they were softened as 
with tears when he bent over the wdiite, unconscious face. 

God^s will be done,^^ he muttered; but I thought He 
had a great work for this man to do in his vineyard. 

The unclerical-looking preacher was Sani Brown. He 
came to Carleon^s bedside as soon as he heard of what had 
happened. The brusque looks and w^ords of the physicians 
• — one of them an agnostic, the other a cultured, cynical 
disciple of Voltaire— had no effect upon him. He re- 
mained day and night in that room over wdiich the Death 
Angel hovered, praying, watching, nursing, lifting the 
bruised and broken frame in his strong arms, so tenderly 
helpful that the physicians ceased to sneer, and put up with 
the parson^s prayers for the sake of his cool nerve and 
intelligent comprehension as an assistant. 

Kildee kept her veil down during her drive to the depot. 
Lottie suspected she was crying. She longed to look into 
the girBs heart and know if she really did not care for the 
man she was to have married on this day — so fair after last 
nigliBs storm. Kildee ^s voice, usually so sweet, was husky 
when she spoke. 

There is one thing that distresses me about going away 
^ — St. Peter, I hate so to leave him behind. I know he wdll 
be taken care of, but he will miss — 

Max laughed out. Catch a w^easel asleep, he said. 

St. Peter is not left behind.^^ 

Why, w^here is he?^^ 

Safe in the smoking-car of our train. I left him there 
ten minutes ago — fiddle, Zack, and all. He found me last 


KILDEE; OPt^ THE SPHIKX OP THE RED HOUSE. 325 

night and knew me. He stuck to me through everything* 
Wheji I got with you into the carriage^ he climbed up be- 
side the driver and rode with us to the hotel. Where he 
stowed himself last night I don-t know, but the first thing 
I heard this morning was the fiddle. We have all three of 
our prodigals back — you and your two proteges — and I feel 
happy enough to kill a dozen fatted calves. Everything is 
as it was before.'’^ 

Everything is as it was before. . Lottie repeated the 
words to herself doubtingly as she looked at Kildee. Her 
child was here beside her, gentle, lovely as before, but 
yet not the same. She would never be the same, Lottie 
said to herself. Those dark, sweet eyes held a secret. 
Could not Max tell it in the very tone of the gentle voice — 
that low yet intense vibrating chord, indescribably tender 
and sad — that chord had been unknown to Kildee^s voice 
before! 

She has suffered,^^ said Lottie in her own little sympa- 
thizing heart. She did love that man. She has given 
him up because she thinks he loves that other woman and 
will be happier with her. Poor Max. But he is so good 
and so devoted to her, she can^t help caring for him. They 
will marry at last, and be happy. 


CHAPTER XLIIL 

The funeral of the supposed Miss Gonzalis — 'fiancee of 
Mayor Heathcliffi — was largely attended. The remains of 
the poor factory girl received a stately burial, and more 
than one heart was heavy with grief as they were lowered 
into the earth. Mme. Jean and her husband stood hand in 
hand looking on with tears streaming down their faces. 
Monsieur had brought all the fiowers his little garden boast- 
ed. He put them on the coffin just before it was lowered. 
Miss Faust, sitting alone in Heathrlifi^s carriage at a dis- 


326 kildee; ok, the sphi^^^x op the red house. 


tance from the grave, heard the clods fall with a strong 
shudder and sobbed behind her double veil. 

HeathclifP himself stood beside the grave, his hat drawn 
over his eyes. He had not slept for many hours; his heart 
ached for the loss of the girl who had so endear^ herself 
to him — who was to-day to have been his wife. He had 
meant to cherish her tenderly; in coring for her happiness, 
in seeing her ripen under kindly influences, he had hoped 
to find compensation for what he had lost in losing the 
supreme love of his life/ 

His face was blistered, his hair and beard scorched by 
the fiery ordeal of last night. One arm had been so badly 
burned that he was forced to have it in a sling. Honor 
Montcalm saw him from her carriage. She watched him 
furtively from behind her veil, and in her heart she formed 
a resolve. 

That evening she went to her father in his study. He 
laid down his pen and looked up anxiously at her as she 
came toward him in her white dress. 

You are looking badly, my dear. You have not got- 
ten over that horrible fright. It has made you lose your 
roses. 

Some others have suffered a far greater loss from last 
night's disaster, dear papa. I came an hour since from 
the funeral of the girl who lost her life." 

You ought not to have gone out; it was imprudent." 

Papa," she said abruptly, ^^is your heart very much 
set upon being governor?" 

He looked at her with much surprise. 

Why do you ask such a question?" 

should not think you would care so much for the 
honor; you were in public life so long. You held a 
national position; this state office must not seem to you an 
honor to be greatly prized." 

It is no mean honor to be put over such a state as this 
by her people's choice — my native state, ^too. But what 


kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 327 

are you aiming at? You have some point you want to 
make. Come to it at once. Don^t beat about the bush; 
ordinary women do that^ and you are not an ordinary 
woman. 

Forgive me^ papa; I will come to the point. I want 
you to withdraw from the gubernatorial canipaign — with- 
draw in favor of Mr. Heathcliff.-^^ 

The man whom you were obliged to reject because^ as 
you told me, he was unworthy to be my son-in-laAv?^^ 

The man, father, to whom I owe my life — who, be- 
cause of you and me, has lost ills young bride and a part 
of his fortune. 

How because of you and me?^^ 

‘^Oh, papa, you must know it was those disaffected 
workmen who burned his houses; and they were wrought 
upon to do it by the inflammable speeches and mis- 
representations of Hazard Hall and his kindred spirits, 
working for your election — working outside your knowl- 
edge or authority, I know — but still working for you. And 
through me Heathclifl lost the woman whom to-day he was 
to have married. It was my bitter misfortune that I 
swooned from the stifling smoke and the shock of fright — 
and in saving me she was left to perish. It is but justice 
that we should do what we can to make up for what he has 
lost through us.*^^ 

The general listened to her with a changing countenance. 
His keen eagle-eye searched her face. 

Honor, he said at length, do you still love Ira 
Heathcliff?^^ 

A wave of crimson swept over her face; her eyes flashed 
a little. 

Father, she answered, can a woman have no other 
motive for wishing a just act to be done to a man? You 
have taught me to put honor above love. I consider that 
your — that my honor is concerned in this matter. This 
man has lost heavily through us. He has saved my life, at 


328 kildee; ok, the sphihx of the red house. 

nearly the cost of his own. There is only one reparation 
we can make him — let him have this office which is much to 
him — whose foot is but just on the ladder of political im- 
portance, and but little to you who stand near its top. But 
for you his election would be sure. Under these circum- 
stances, does not honor require you to withdraw? 

The general was silent. His daughter's arguments 
afected him less than her simple wish. He had never dis- 
regarded her wishes. At length he said: , . 

You. doiiT know the magnitude of what you ask, my 
dear. This thing has gone a good way. My friends have 
not spared money or effort in my behalf. I have no right 
to withdraw from this contest without consulting them. I 
promise you that I will lay the matter before them, and if 
they think I can honorably take my name from the ticket. 
I will do it.-"^ 

She came nearer to him and said earnestly: 

Father, if the money that has been spent for you by 
your friends is all that stands in the way of your with- 
drawal, can not I remove that? Eemember I have grand- 
mother's legacy. It is mine, you said, to do with as I 
please. It is in stocks or bonds or something. Take it 
and repay your friends. Cancel your money obligations to 
them. 

Honor, remember this is nearly all your fortune. Are 
you really willing to have it sacrificed?^ ^ 

I am ready to have it used by my father in canceling 
obligations that stand in the way of his fulfilling a 
duty.^^ 

The general looked at her with misty eyes. But he 
thought it necessary to curb her too generous impulses. 

“For a woman of good sense, you have very Utopian 
ideas, my child. 

“ They are not Utopian, my father. You taught them 
to me; that was years ago. Of late — father, doiiT let 
selfish, reckless spirits influence you in this matter. I 


kildee; oe^, the sphinx of the eed house. 329 

know how they will sneer. They sneer at every feeling of 
obligation higher- than mere self or party interest. 

‘^You are meaning Hazard Hall. Poor fellow; you 
always have been hard upon him.- You can never do jus- 
tice to that gifted boy. You are prejudiced — ^jealous, my 
Honor. 

‘^It is not personal jealousy, father. True, I have 
always been first in your heart, and deemed this was of 
right my place. And I have felt a little forsaken and 
thrust out of late. But it is not this; it is that I do not 
w^ant that boy — ^gifted, I grant you — to inoculate you with 
the poison of his lax principles, his narrow self-seeking, his 
recklessness of the claims and rights of any who may chance 
to stand in his way. This may be the spirit of the new 
political methods — but you, my father, belong to the old- 
fashioned school, which recognizes a higher motive than 
self-interest, which looks to the good of the people whose 
suffrages may have placed you over them. In the vocabu- 
lary of that purer school there is still such a word as honor 
— honor that refuses to take unfair advantage, or to make 
use of a stepping-stone unless it be clean; honor that bears 
on its shield the grand motto ^ noblesse oblige, ^ In the face 
of that motto my father can not but withdraw his claim to 
this office in favor of a man whom he has unwittingly in- 
jured, and to whom he owes a heavy obligation — his daugh- 
ter's life.^^ 

The light of the full moon came in at the window and 
she stood in its soft stream, tall, pure, stately. The moon- 
light seemed to emanate from her. General Montcalm 
stretched out his arms and drew her to him. It was long 
since he had held her so. He was proud of his high-souled 
daughter, yet he was not prepared to grant her request. 

What a capital special pleader at the bar was spoiled 
when Fate wronged you in the matter of sex, my love,^^ he 
said, when he had pressed his soldierly mustached lips to her 
cheek. Almost thou persiiadest me ^ — not quite, my 


330 kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 

dear. I must consult my friends; it is their due. If I can 
obtain their concurrence I will withdraw for your sake.^^ 

For honoFs sake, papa.^^ 

For honor’s sake — and Honor’s,” he said, smiling as 
he kissed her once more, and put her gently from him. 

With this promise she was forced to be content. 

Hazard Hall dropped in next morning as usual, and the 
general broached the matter of the withdrawal to him. 

It is what I expected to hear,” cried the young favor- 
ite. It is your daughter’s work. I recognize a woman’s 
quixotic notions in the scheme. I know Miss Honor’s 
lofty, but, pardon me, wholly impracticable ideas, and I 
felt sure she would suggest this folly to you. Folly it 
would certainly be. You are sure of being elected. You 
are the man the state wants. What does that fellow Heath- 
cliif, with his machinist mind, know about administering 
state affairs? Then you are bound to your friends. You 
are pledged to your backers. You owe something to them 
and to the exponents of independent party views. You 
are the backbone of these. You were late in coming out; 
then your friends rallied around you — heart and soul — and 
purse. How can you go back on them without dishonor?” 

The money obligations would be repaid of course,” the 
general said coldly. 

Hazard looked at him quickly. Instantly his shrewd 
thought divined that Honor Montcalm had offered her 
money to repay her father’s backers if he should retire 
from the field. He uttered an inward oath. He set it 
down as due to her unquenched love for this hated Heath- 
cliff. Would her folly undo all his work in this campaign 
— make null the aims he was so confident of attaining? 

He saw his game about to be lost and instantly resolved 
on a bold throw. 

It was rather premature, but he would risk it. He threw 
up his handsome head that had been bent in thought and 
walked up to his patron. 


KILDEE; ORj, THE SPHINX OP THE RED HOUSE. 331 

General/^ he said in his penetrative, impressive way, 
before you haul down your colors in favor of Heathclifi, 
let me ask how you, a patriot, devoted to your state, will 
like being instrumental in putting over that state, as its 
ruler, a man who is accessory to a black crime — a man who 
harbors as his mistress a woman who is the murderer of 
her husband. 

The general started as though a shell had burst at his 
feet. 

Hazard Hall,^^ he cried, what do you mean? Speak; 
are you simply mad, or do you mean my brother's mur- 
deress. 

I mean Laura Montcalm, who is concealed in this city 
Tby his honor — the Mayor of Wallport.^^ 

Do you make that assertion recklessly, or have you a 
shadow of proof?^^ 

I speak what I know. In one week from to-day my 
proofs shall be ready. Postpone your withdrawal until then, 
and if I do not substantiate what I say, then lay your sure 
chances at Heathcliff^s feet, and ITl toss my chapeau in 
honor of the Machinist Governor. 

The proofs of what you say. Give them to me now. 
What is office or anything beside this — this debt I owe my 
brother — to bring his murderer . to .punishment. DonT 
trifle with me, boy. Where is Laura Montcalm?^^ 

In one week from to-day, general. 

Swear to me that she is in the city."^^ 

Hazard thrust his slender fingers into his breast-pocket 
and took out a small leather-bound pocket-book. Opening 
its clasped pages, he took out and uncoiled a very slender 
tress — a few hairs only — but quite long and bright gold in 
color. 

This hair was growing on Laura Montcalm^s head a 
few hours ago,^^ he said. Then in answer to General 
Montcalm^s fierce, eager look, he said: 

‘^In a week, general, I promise you shall know all. 


362 kildee; ob, the sphinx of the eed house. 

Promise me in return that you will not withdraw from the 
field in the meantime.'^ 

You have my promise/^ the general answered. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

.How came Hazard Hall to be in possession of those 
golden hairs, which, as he said, had a few hours before 
been growing on the head of Laura Montcalm? On the 
evening before Miss Faust had attended the funeral of the 
supposed Kildee. She had driven to the cemetery in the 
mayor^s carriage — its only occupant. While she sobbed 
behind her veil, she had fallen under the observing eyes of 
Hazard Hall, who leaned against a tree, noting everything 
that passed with an eye to a sensational account in The 
Rattler of the burial of Heathclifi'^s young bride. Miss 
Faust was too much distressed to heed his scrutiny. She 
had turned on her seat and rested her head sideways 
against the damask-lined back of the carriage. When she 
would have lifted it there seemed something in the way of 
her doing so. A portion of her hair or of her veil had 
caught on some protuberance. She gave a slight jerk and 
extricated herself; then rather confusedly rearranged her 
veil and hair. She had not seen Hazard Hall start and 
lean eagerly forward, snatch a tiny magnifying glass from 
his pocket, and regard her intently through it. What was 
it that had caught his eye? A gleam of color in the som- 
ber black and gray of Miss Faust^s head — a gleam of gold 
— a gleam of yellow hair, yellow hair under that mass of 
gray, nearly white locks. How did this happen? It must 
be that the gray hair was artificial, and the golden hair the 
wearer^s own. But why should the possessor of such lovely 
hair seek to hide it — why but as a disguise? If I could 
touch that hair as well as see it,^^ thought Hazard. He 
kept his eyes on the carriage and its occupant, but saw 


kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red house. 333 

nothing more to feed his suspicion. Before the funeral was 
quite over, he drove back to the towu in the buggy of a 
friend and had himself put down near the Red House. He 
took his position not far from the gate, wishing to scrutinize 
Miss Faust when she descended from the carriage. He 
leaned against the steep bank topped by the iron-spiked 
brick wall, and pretended to scribble in his note-book. He 
had not long to wait. The carriage turned the street cor- 
ner and drew up in front of the locked gate. Miss Faust 
alighted; her figure was muffled as usual, and her long, 
black veil enveloped her.* Black gloves covered her hands 
and wrists, but Hazard saw a small portion of her bare arm 
just above the gloves, and that small section of arm was 
dazzlingly white and daintily round. 

Caleb was at the great gate, and unlocked and opened it 
for her. It swung to and fastened with a spring, and the 
SjDhinx passed out of sight into her shadowy home as 
secluded and unseen in the midst of the city as though it 
were in the heart of a wilderness. The driver had stared 
after the singular figure in never-sated curiosity. Before 
he could gather up the reins and start his horses Hazard 
Hall had sprung lightly into the carriage. The man turned 
around and glared at the intruder, but Hazard disarmed 
him by saying airily as he tossed him a half dollar: 

1^11 ride with you up to Heathcliff^s as long as you 
haven’t a passenger.” 

The man touched his hat. All right, sir,” he said, 
and the sleek bays trotted away. 

Hazard immediately began an examination of the back 
of the carriage-seat against which Miss Faust’s head had 
rested. It was cushioned in green damask and there were 
ornamental studs here and there of carved silver. One of 
these protruded unwarrantably, and attached to this Haz- 
ard found the object of his search, a few strands of hair. 
He had felt sure some of the Sphinx’s hair must have been 
fastened here and been pulled out when she gave that jerk. 


334 kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 

Sure enough here it was, and not gray either, but, as he 
had hoped, yellow and silken. He unfastened them from 
the silver tack, he smoothed their tangles, felt their soft- 
ness, and noted their glossy sheen. He said to himself: 

This hair never came from the head of an old woman of 
sixty. Laura Montcalm had just such hair — like the 
Borgia^s tresses of spun gold, so the old general said. The 
ivoman at the Red House is Laura Montcalm in disguise/^ 
The thought flashed into his brain with the force of con- 
viction, but the next instant he shook his head. 

Ho, pshaw! — no. It is absurd. Those ugly, deformed 
features; that great, hooked nose, the purple mark dis- 
figuring one side of her face. Besides, Miss Faust has lived 
here in the Eed House for seven years, and it has only been 
two years since the Montcalm murder. If this is Laura 
Montcalm, where is Margaret Faust?^^ 

He mused a moment, then threw up his head in his 
abrupt way, shaking back his curling hair. 

Once Miss Faust left this city, went back to Germany 
to see her brother. She went in her secret, silent way; she 
returned in the same fashion; nobody seems to have seen 
her when she left, or when she returned — nobody buf 
HeathclM. It was two years and six months ago that she 
went; it is just two years since she came back; and it is 
just two years since Laura Montcalm fled from her home- 
after stabbing her husband with a jeweled toy dagger she 
had worn all day in her belt. This is a coincidence which 
is strong enough to hang a suspicion upon. Ifll test its 
strength before I stop.’^ 

But he had made no further move up to the next day 
when he played his bluff game on General Montcalm, in 
order to prevent that candidate from backing down,^^ as 
he phrased it. He had pledged himself to bring proof of 
Heathcliff^s guilt within a week; he must go to work at 
once. He rushed off to the beach and walked the sandy 
shore for an hour, hearing the tide roll in with its deep. 


kildee; ok, the sphikx oe the red house. 335 

soothing murmur. An idea came to him. He went back 
into the city and stepped into the post-office. He knew 
the chief official of the delivery department — everybody 
knew jolly Jack Noel, who had been in the office fifteen 
years, never forgot a face, or a name, or a date, and was 
prompt in business as he was ready in tongue. 

Hunting up a victim?^^ he said when he saw the young 
journalist and his note-book. 

No: I have just found him,^^ returned Hazard, taking 
out his pencil. 

Don^t think to interview me about the post-office 
irregularities. I^m as mum as — 

‘ • A fig for the irregularities. Everything will be out in 
spite of the hushing up. But I^m not barking up that 
tree; I^m trying to find out all I can about our eccentric 
fellow-citizen. Miss Faust, of the Red HAise. She is a 
mystery and a monstrosity; she will make a capital subject 
for a write-up. 

What the dragon do I know about her? Never heard 
her speak, and never saw her in my life except through 
veils and mufflers. 

Neither did anybody else. But you can tell me some- 
thing about her correspondence. She has money and must 
have business transactions. Does she ever receive regis- 
tered letters?^^ 

Never. Nor any letj^^ers of any kind the boys tell me, 
except that one from her brother which took her back to 
Germany to forgive him on his death-bed. She had quar- 
reled with him, it seems, because ^le married at the tender 
age of forty. She holds marriage as a holy horror, it being 
a closed paradise to her witchship!^^ 

And her brother died.^^^ 

Yes, she wrote a letter full of remorse, Heathcliff told 
me. He^s her business manager, you know. I remember 
the quaint, cramped handwriting and the big black-bor- 
dered envelopes covered with foreign stamps. Heathcliff 


336 kildee; OR^ the sph^x oe the red house. a 

just got such another letter a few months afterward, and I i 
made sure the old lady was dead this time, but when I met \ 
him and asked him he told me she had just got back. 1 

Hazard^s eyes gave one of their quick, bright flashes. ] 
He had made a mental note of this. He now put the | 
question he had come to ask. ■ 

Where did her brother die?^^ 

At Heidelberg. He was a professor in the university 
there. But what the mischief do you want to know all this 
bosh for?^^ 

have to help feed an insatiable monster — public 
curiosity. Miss Faust is something of a sphinx. I find 
there is a great eagerness to peer behind her veil literally 
^nd metaphorically. I will lift it a little for the public 
benefit. 

And she will lift you, my boy. They say she^s got a 
devil of a temper. 

ITl make love to her and sheTl forgive me,^^ laughed 
Hazard as he left the room. 

He went to the telegraph office and dispatched this mes- 
sage to New York, and thence to Heidelberg, Germany. 

It was simply the question: 

Is Margaret Faust, sister of Professor Faust, in your 
city?^^ 

The message was addressed to the Faculty of Heidelberg 
University. 

Hazard waited with feverish imimtience for the reply. 
Three days passed before it came. His fingers shook so he 
could hardly tear open the envelope, his head swam so he 
could hardly read the half dozen words. But he did read 
them, and all the blood in his body rushed to his heart in 
one throb of triumph. The answer was this: 

Miss Faust has been dead two yeark^"' 

For a few moments he felt his cause was gained. He 
was on the point of rushing off to the general, and waving 
the tell-tale message under his nose, then to the clerk of 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 337 

the court to get a warrant for the arrest of Laura Mont- 
calm. The triumph of succeeding was his; he thought, of 
it with more elation than of the large reward he could 
claim, though he by no means undervalued money. But a 
little reflection toned down his elation. His work was not 
done. He had in his hand the proof that the woman at 
the Red House was an impostor, but he did not have the 
proof that she was Laura Montcalm. And he must possess 
himself of this beyond a doubt. He had made one faux 
pas in that direction; he would make sure before he next 
descended on the castle of the Sphinx. He must find some 
way to gain access to the Red House, spy Miss Faust in her 
secret boudoir when she had removed her disguise that she 
might look fair in the eyes of her lover — the worthy mayor 
— compare her face with that of the picture of Laura Mont- 
calm, and then spring his trap. He took the picture from 
his pocket and looked at it earnestly as he did every day of 
his life, for the ripe loveliness of this fair woman was allur- 
ing to the eyes of this beauty-worshiper. The picture had, 
besides, a higher and subtler charm, emanating from the 
sad, appealing eyes. They seemed to look at him now with 
sorrowful reproach. He was seeking her life, and she had 
been so beautiful. She had been so wronged; an unloved 
wife, scorned and taunted by her husband, threatened by 
him with disgrace when another day should dawn — perhaps 
threatened with violence and death. Who knew? Wha 
could tell what had passed between those two that night 
after her return from the island,* when they were alone in 
the house together? 

But not long did any feeling of compassionate hesitation 
visit the eager, fevered soul of Hazard Hall. Does the 
hunter stop for pity’s sake when the hunted game is in 
sight, though its innocent sides be panting, its eyes blood- 
shot, its steps tottering? The blood of this amateur detect- 
ive was leaping with the excitement of the chase. He set 
to work on some plan by which he could get access to the 


338 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

Eed House and its mistress. He would take no one in his 
counsel; he would ask help of no one. 

will take as my motto what was written over the 
gates of the Enchanted Castle, ^ Be bold,^ he said. It 
was a motto that well accorded with his adventurous, auda- 
cious spirit. 


CHAPTER XLV. 

Hazard ^s lease of the old dwelling joining yards with 
the Red House on the rear, though facing a different and 
narrow connecting street, had not yet expired. He opened 
the gate leading to this rookery at noon the day after re- 
ceiving the cablegram from Heidelberg. He wore a blonde 
wig and mustache that old Caleb might not recognize him 
as the person who had so often under various pretexts, tried 
to’pass the iron gate of which he was guardian, and who 
had accompanied the officers with the search warrant. 
And once before he had deceived old Caleb when he won 
his way to the Sphinxes presence under the guise of a legal 
official taking the census. Since the search of their castle, 
it was reasonable to suppose that the inmates of the mys- 
terious Red House were on their guard. He must try new 
tactics. He had provided himself with a light folding lad- 
der which he carried in an artistes portfolio. Entering the 
old house, he went to that upper room, at the window of 
which he had stood with Honor Montcalm on the dark and 
rainy night when she had seen the golden-haired woman 
embraced by her betrothed. 

He had never entered the room since that night. He 
had believed the mystery of the blonde woman to be ex- 
plained by the presence of Kildee in the Red House. Now 
he felt that he had been duped. He ^ went to the window 
and through the turned blind he carefully reconnoitered the 
Red House, building and yard, or that rear portion of it 
visible from the point of view. He could see no one; the 


kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 339 

windows of the secret boudoir had their Venetian shutters 
closed, to keep out the heated air of noon; but as he listened 
he heard the sound of a piano lightly touched in the draw- 
ing-room situated somewhere in the center of this big, 
shadowy, isolated house. 

From the side of the stone basement protruded the pipe 
of a stove, and from the mouth of this issued a thin volume 
of smoke. Patsy, the one woman-servant, was cooking 
dinner, probably assisted by Caleb, or perhaps that old 
watch-dog was asleep on a bench somewhere in the shade. 

It seemed to Hazard a favorable moment for entering 
the Enchanted Castle. He made his way down by means 
of a back staircase, and slipping along through the neglect- 
ed shrubbery, approached the spiked brick wall dividing this 
yard from that of the Eed House. Taking out his ladder 
he unfolded it, and deftly adjusted it to the wall in the 
corner where fig bushes growing rankty on the other side 
would conceal his movements. He descended the frail- 
seeming but stout little ladder and leaped lightly on the 
soft grass inside. He went around to the side of the house 
and found the door of the basement room, from which he 
had seen the smoke issuing. An odor of cooking told him 
he had not been mistaken in thinking that this was a 
kitchen. He knocked and the door was opened by Caleb. 
The old negro had been gnawing a bonefrom the soup pot; 
he held it now, in one huge wrinkled paw, and his face was 
shining with grease. 

He dropped the bone to the floor in amazement. 

How you git in here, white man? Who dat let you in 
de gate?^^ 

‘^Hush! DonH speak so loud. Are you Caleb John- 
son?» 

“ If I is, what dat to you?^^ 

Mayor Heathcliff sent me to you. He gave me his key 
to the gate. 

What make you neber go in by front way, stiddy com- 

5— 2d half. 


340 kilbee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

in^ roun^ here, slippin^ up on colored folks? Dat no v/ay 
for genthmun to do."^^ 

I did not go to the front door because my business here 
is to be kept secret from Miss Faust; I was not to see her, 
I was to come to you. See here, here’s Mr. Heathcliff’s 
note to you; I presume you know his seal and his handwrit- 
ing.” 

Old Caleb didn’t know his writing or anybody else’ s from 
a hen scratch, but he felt a great access of self-complacency 
as well as confidence in his visitor when he took in his 
greasy fingers the big envelope with its immense round seal 
of red wax. The old-fashioned negro has a superstitious 
veneration for writing, and a letter is to them like a law 
edict. Its instructions must be obeyed. He examined the 
envelope with great gravity, and with so much deliberation 
that the woman who had left her pots and approached the 
two said: 

“ Why doesn’t you break dat red sticking-plaster and see 
de insides, Caleb?” 

He gave her a dignified, rebuking look and slowly broke 
the seal. While he gazed at the hieroglyphic words, Patsy 
on tiptoe spelled out the line: 

Do what the bearer of this tells you to. It is all right 
• ‘‘ Heathcliff, 

Mayor of Wallport,'^’ 

Well, I ain’t got nothin’ to say. Ef Mayor Heathcliff 
sent you, and he must, acause he’s de onliest one what’s 
got a key to de gate, ’sides me; and ef he tells me to do 
what you say, and dat paper ses so plain enough, why it’s all 
right, in course. Mayor Heathclifi* is de fren’ of de lady 
of de house. Tell me what you wants, sah, dat you mus’ 
be so secrecy about.” 

‘‘ It is just this: Miss Faust has a relation in Germany — 
an uncle, her only kin, who raised her. He thinks a great 
deal of her and is anxious to have her picture. But she 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the bed house. 341 

always refused to have one taken. She will not even let^ 
any one see her without her veil.” 

“ Dat’s so. I never see um widout it myself long as I 
been livin^ here. Mighty good reason for keepin’ kivered 
up too. When beauty been giv’ out. Miss Fans’ wasn’t 
dare.” 

“ But her uncle cares nothing for that. She is of his 
blood, you see. She is his sister’s only child, and he is 
anxious to have her picture. I am an artist. I draw pict- 
ures as fast as you can eat hominy. Mr. Heathcliif has in- 
trusted me to take Miss Faust’s picture for her uncle if I 
can get a chance. ‘ Go to Caleb,’ he said to me. ‘ Con- 
sult with him how to get to Miss Faust and sketch her 
•without her knowing it. Caleb is smart as any lawyer I 
know of. ’ ” 

. Caleb’s greasy mouth expanded at this compliment. 

“ De mayor knows a smart man when he sees him,” he 
said, complacently. Then with a gleam of suspicion: 

“ How come you so eagersome to take de old woman’s 
pickture?” he asked. 

“ Why? Because it’s money in my pocket. I get fifteen 
dollars for it. That’s a pretty good sum to a poor chap 
like me. But I’ll tell you what, Caleb, I’ll go halves with 
you if you can get me the chance to draw the picture. Get 
me into her bedroom, and I’ll sketch her while she is 
asleep. ” 

“ Her bedroom,” repeated Caleb, slowly shaking his 
head. “ Why, young man, she’d — ” 

She’ll never find it out. And it will be just like pick- 
ing up this five-dollar piece in the road. Look at it — gold, 
you see — bright and new— none of your paper trash. All 
I ask of you is to get me inside her bedroom. I’ll manage 
to get out. She is in the parlor now, playing on the 
piano. After awhile she will come out and go into her 
room, will she not?” 

“Yes, she will,” said Patsy, who, at the sight of the 


342 kildee; ok, the sphikx of the ked house. 

gold had become keenly interested. She^ll go in her 
room and take a baf and a nap.^^ 

Very well, I must be in the room before she comes. 
You must let me in, Patsy. Where does she keep the 
key?^^ 

^^In her pocket. I gives it to her soon as I cleans 
up.''^ 

Well, you must go and ask her to let you have it a 
moment. Say that you have dropped something belonging 
to you in there while you were cleaning up. Your Virgin 
Mary medal, say.^^ 

Good saints! I never get forgiveness if I say dat.^^ 

Yes, you will. You can buy dozens of candles with 
this,^^ and he held up another gold piece before her greedy 
eyes. 

Isn^t it a good plan, Caleb he said, discovering that 
the old darkey looked glum at being left out in the con- 
sultation. 

Y-a-s, I believe it is,^^ cautiously assented Caleb. 

It is a mighty good plan, and I^m goin^ right now to 
git de key,"*’ exclaimed Patsy, hurriedly wiping her hands 
on her apron, untying that garment, and throwing it in a 
corner. 

Yes, Patsy, be quick before she is done playing, cried 
Hazard. 

He looked after her impatiently^ He beat a tattoo with 
his restless fingers until he heard her returning step in the 
hall. He rushed to the door and smiled triumphantly, as 
he saw the key held out in her hand. She motioned to 
him and he followed her quickly and noiselessly. Up tlie 
stairs from the ground-floor, up again into the story above, 
along the corridor, and through the outer chamber to the 
door of that inner sanctuary into which, thought Hazard, 
the Sphinx withdraws to undergo her transformation. 

Patsy unlocked the door and Hazard stepped quickly in. 
He gave a hurried glance around the room, noting its neat- 


kildee; ok^ the sphinx oe the red house. 343 

ness and elegance. The tall mirrors reflected his white face 
and burning eyes. 

There is a closet?^ ^ he said. 

There^s two on um/^ returned Patsy in a whisper. 

Git into dat furdest one and hide yourself ^mongst de 
clothes what’s hangin’ up.” 

He lost not a second in doing as she directed. The 
closet was not-^ locked. It had garments hanging thickly 
against the wall. He could hide among these if need be. 

Patsy went out and locked the chamber-door. Not an 
instant too soon, for the music in the parlor below stopped 
suddenly, and presently Hazard heard a light step just out- 
side the door. 


CHAPTEE XLVI. 

The key turned in the lock; the door opened, the Sphinx 
entered and closed the door behind her. She wore a black 
silk gown, the loose corsage bound at the waist by a cord. 
The short gray gauze veil which she always wore in-doors 
hung over her face, fastened to a black jet band worn 
across the crown of her gray, nearly white head. 

She came in with a languid step and stopped an instant, 
leaning heavily against a corner of the dressing-case. 
Then she turned and faced the mirror. Her back was 
now to Hazard, but he could see her full reflection in the 
tall clear glass. How ugly, how old, how grotesque her 
face was, how queer her hump-shouldered figure! No; 
that could never be the woman he sought; Laura Mont- 
calm could never be made up to look like that. She took 
off the veil with its jet head-dress, and resting her hands on 
the marble slab, looked at her hideous image — the large 
hooked nose, the purple mark, the furrowed cheeks. 

A strange, sad, self -mocking smile flitted over her face. 
She took off the pale-blue spectacles. Ah, here was some- 
thing of a change. The eyes were certainly not ugly — they 


34:4 kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red hoXjse. 

were beautiful — large, darkly blue, and bright. But they 
shone under a bushy penthouse of gray brows. And still 
Hazard shook his head. 

Once more the lady raised her arm. The full black 
sleeve hid her face an instant; when Hazard saw it next his 
heart gave a quick bound. Here was a change. The 
great, grotesque nose was gone. In its place was a deli- 
cately shaped feature, . certainly resembling that of Laura 
Montcalm as shown in her picture, lying now against 
Hazard^s throbbing heart. 

But still there was the red mark, the white hair, the 
bushy gray eyebrows, the wrinkles in cheeks and forehead. 
These were there when she moved away from the mirror.' 
She went in the direction of the small dressing and bath- 
room into which Hazard had looked when he took his sur- 
vey of the chamber. This room was not within his now 
limited range of sight, but he heard the door open and 
knew she had gone inside. Presently he heard the plash of 
water. 

She is taking a bath,^^ he said. May she come forth 
fresh as Venus from the Egean. 

He took the picture of Laura Montcalm from his bosom 
and held it in his hand ready to compare the faces. He 
heard the door open; he gave one glance at the lovely face 
of the miniature; then looked up as a light step gave token 
that the mysterious lady was crossing the room. He came 
near uttering a wild exclamation of delight. There stood 
before him the living original of the picture he held in his 
hand. No longer the deformed and disfigured Miss Faust 
— but Laura Montcalm — the beautiful— the impersonation 
of grace. 

She wore a dressing-gown^ of creamy- white muslin, just 
outlining her lovely shape, her skin was glowing from the 
bath, her bright hair hung in damp half-curls over her 
shoulders, 'and little wet rings lay against her pearly brow. 
Her little white stockingless feet were thrust into black 


kildee; oe^ the sphinx of the eed house. 345 

velvet slippers. In one hand she held the gray wig she 
had worn. She put it on the dressing-case beside the false 
nose^ the spectacles and the veil. . Where was the great red 
mark? It had probably been a sort of gluey, colored 
plaster easily washed off. She looked at the instruments 
of disguise, lying there in a little queer heap with that 
same curious, sad, sardonic smile; then she turned to the 
mirror and once again Hazard saw a form and face re- 
flected in the tall glass, but how different from the other. 
He could hardly believe such a transformation possible, for 
all he had some knowledge of stage dressing-rooms and the 
mysteries of making up. 

As the lady contemplated the fair image in the mirror, a 
gleam of pleasure touched her mouth and eyes. It faded 
quickly. Her face darkened. She lifted her arms and put 
her clasped hands on the top of her head, as though to 
crush down some memory that maddened. 

What does it matter. Oh, what does it matter?^^ 

It was almost a wail. Hazard understood it to mean : 
“ What does it matter that I am fair? Love is no more 
for me; nor hope, nor any pleasure or prospect in 
life. 

She walked to the cage of the canary and chirruped to 
the bird. It had fluttered away from her when she first 
came in, and sat now, a moody bunch of feathers, on its 
perch. 

It turned its head, saw her, and flew toward her, utter- 
ing a joyous chirp. 

‘^Ah! you know me now?^^ she murmured, as she 
pressed her face to the gilded bars and kissed the delight- 
ed bird. To think that you are the only creature I can 
be my true self before — you and he. 

She sighed heavily and turned from the cage, walking 
the floor a moment, with her hands again pressed on her 
head as though to crush down some painful thought. As 
she passed back and forth. Hazard had glimpses of her 


346 KILDEE; OR, THE SPHIKX OE THE RED HOUSE. 

white face, her shining hair, her trailing robe. Once he 
could have put out his hand and touched the shell-like foot 
in its velvet casing. 

Presently he saw her take a book from the table and turn 
toward the bed. He could not see her, but he knew she 
had lain down. He heard the slight rustle and the faint 
creak, as she sunk on the silken coverlid and soft pillows 
of the bed. 

Minute after minute went by. He could hear her occa- 
sionally turn the leaves of her book. Once he heard her 
sigh. He had found a banished foot-stool in the closet, 
and he softly raised himself from his crouching position 
and seated himself on the foot-stool, leaning his head back 
against a soft silken mass that had a faint odor of jasmine. 
The softness and perfume affected his impressionable 
senses. They were her clothes he felt sure. Perhaps that 
graceful blue robe he had seen her wear when her lover 
came to visit his bird in her gilded cage. Curse Heath- 
cliff! How came that old grenadier of a man to win the 
love of two beautiful women? Well, it should not do him 
any good. He would never possess the one, nor should he 
longer enjoy the other. 

To-night his star shall set,^^ said the passionate boy, 
to himself. I told him we would have our Philippi. 

The leaves of the book had ceased to be turned. Hazard 
lifted his head from its silken-soft resting-place aiid list- 
ened. He could catch the sound of soft, regular breath- 
ing. The lady of the Enchanted Castle was asleep. 

He opened the door of the closet and crept softly out. 
Noiselessly he stole to the side of the bed. He stood close 
to it, and looked at its sleeping occupant. 

Was this the face of a murderess? 

A nobly, delicately molded face with an unutterable 
pathos about the mouth and in the closed veined hds and 
the pale blue shadows under the long lashes. There was 
sadness and the trace of repressed suffering; there was a 


kildee; oe^ the sphinx of the bed house. 347 

touch of pride and defiance in that face, but of crime there 
was not a sign. 

And how fair she was; with just that mellowing molding 
touch of time and thought which gives beauty its ripe 
charm. 

One curling lock lay across the white swell of her bosom. 
Hazard lifted it lightly and thought of his sharp journalist 
little scissors in his pocket, but refrained from the tempta- 
tion. 

But when he noted the rose-tinged snow of the round 
arm lying across the pillow, he impulsively bent dov/n and 
pressed his smooth lips (the blonde mustache was in his 
pocket) to the cool soft skin. 

She gave a little start; a tremor ran over her; but her 
eyes did not unclose. Hazard drew back and watched 
her. 

A Judas kiss, my sweet, he said to himself. ‘^Did 
your inner sense warn you of it? I shall betray you before 
the cock crows, despite all this appealing beauty. If I 
were a knight of ye olden time I might champion your 
cause. I might kee23 your secret and help you to escape. 
But chivalry is a played game. I am a product of the 
nineteenth century. Love and chivalry count for some- 
thing in the life of to-day, perhaps, but not for much. 
Money, power, luxury, leave them limping behind. By 
trying to save you, my beautiful Laura, I should get my- 
self into a scrape. By betraying you, I shall get seven 
thousand dollars in cash and a strong hold upon the favor 
of a prospective governor, to say nothing of the chance to 
crush an opponent and a rival. The odds are against you, 
Laura, though I own I hate to think of that Avhite wrist 
wearing the iron bracelet. One more kiss.-’^ 

Once more he bent and pressed his daring lips upon the 
sleeper^s soft Avhite arm. She stirred again, and he drew 
back for a second, a lit.tle frightened. Presently he began 
to fan her slowly and softly with a fan of white feathers he 


348 kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 

had picked up from the floor. In a little while the frown 
liassed from her forehead and her features settled with the 
quiet restfulness of sleep. 

As he plied the fan he had been thinking: How shall I 
get out of here? To slip into the dressing-room^ get the 
key out of the pocket of her black silk gown and unlock 
the door will be probably to waken her. Even if I succeed 
in getting out without disturbing her^ she will know by 
the unfastened door that she has been spied upon and her 
secret discovered. She will make inquiries and find out 
from old Calebs and I shall have alarmed my game before 
I am quite ready to' bring it down. ITl see if some other 
plan is not feasible. 

He remembered the great trees that grew close to the 
house at the back. The door which opened into the secret 
boudoir was slightly ajar. He stepped lightly across the 
chamber and entered this pretty little sitting-room in which 
he had first seen the Sphinx from his post of observation at 
the upper window of the old house. Here was the window 
which had framed the picture of her in the blue dress. He 
looked through the turned slats of the Venetian blind. 
There were no limbs or trees near enough to this window 
to be available as a means of descent. It was the other 
window which had been so hidden by foliage he could never 
see into it. He went up to this window and made the dis- 
covery that a limb of the large sycamore stretched before it 
almost within arm^s-length. He might grasp this and 
swing himself down to another stouter limb below it, and 
thence it would be easy to reach the ground. 

He softly opened the shutters, got into the window, suc- 
ceeded in grasping the limb, and in a few minutes had 
leaped to the soft tufted ground as lightly as his prototype 
— the jaguar. His wide satchel, containing the folded lad- 
der, was safe by its strap around his neck, and he was safe 
on the other side of the Eed House wall before its mistress 
had ended her fateful siesta. 


kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 349 

He walked to the office of The Rattler as though he 
trod on air. Rosy visions danced before his eyes. Heath- 
cliff unmasked — a little fortune in his pocket; the promise 
of a lucrative appointment^ and in the dimmer perspective 
— Honor Montcalm as his bride. These were the mirages 
that made his dark cheeks glow as he walked swiftly along 
the sunny pavement. 

To-night at the torch-light meeting he would make his 
grand cony. 


CHAPTER XLVIL 

The night was still and starlit. There was no moon. 
Had there been its white radiance would have paled in the 
red glare of the torches that lit the large central square of 
Wallport. 

The square was surging with people^ white and black, 
men and boys, with a sprinkling of women. And near the 
tall monumental shaft that rose in the center of the square 
there was a number of carriages containing ladies and their 
escorts. Near to the monument the speaker’s stand had 
been erected. Behind it floated a flag bearing the symbols 
of the state; on either side of it flared immense red 
torches on tall, narrow stands. A band of musicians, 
seated on the granite pedestal of the monument, played 
lively airs on their glittering instruments, ^while the people 
gathered. 

When the city clock had struck eight the crowd began 
to shout and huzza for their different candidates. A bluff- 
looking man in gray mounted the stand and made a speech 
in eulogy of Norton. That trained and wily politician 
was then called for, and made a witty little speech of flve 
minutes. He seemed disposed to speak longer, but there 
were shouts in the crowd for Heathcliff. It was known 
that the occasion was his; the meeting had been gotten up 


350 kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 

chiefly by his friends, and since his losses by the fire, the 
tide of sympathy had run strongly in his favor. 

Heathcliff! Heathclifi!’^ roared the crowd, and the 
Mayor of Wallport ascended the rostrum. He was very 
pale; his arm was still in a sling, and a red scar branded his 
forehead, showing where it had come in contact with a 
burning beam. But his manner was as quiet and self-con- 
trolled as ever, and his voice, as it went out over the 
throng, had that deep, weighty utterance, that commands 
silence and inspires trust. He briefly explained his views 
upon the question of labor and capital — views which had 
been so grossly misrepresented. 

His setting forth of the respective rights of employer 
and laborer was impartial and dispassionate; and so 
forcible and simple that the most obtuse could not fail to 
understand. He said he had never before spoken in public 
of himself. There had seemed no need. Nearly half of 
his life — all its best yeai’s — had been spent among them a 
mere youth— poor, unknown, with but one friend in the 
city — his mother. There had been some years of struggle; 
then he had become able to buy a small interest in the 
machine shop, which he afterward owned. He saved 
money and bought real estate, which he sold when it in- 
creased in value. Gradually he had engaged in enterprises 
requiring him to employ a number of hands. Many of 
these men were present. If any one of them could say 
that he or any one known to him had not received fair 
wages for fair work let him speak. If any one could say 
that he had been wronged or mistreated, or discharged un- 
less for persistent misconduct or neglect of work, let him 
speaR. If any one who had ever been in his employ could 
say that he had been ill or in distress and had let his wants 
be known without receiving assistance, let him speak. 

To the pause that followed there was silence. No voice 
was raised in contra-assertion. 

HeathcliS resumed. He said that in dealing fairly, 


KILDEE; OK^ the SPHIKX of THE RED HOUSE. * 351 

justly and humanely by his employes^ a man did onJy 
what plain duty required of him. He deserved no credit 
for it, and it was foolish egotism to speak of it unless forced 
to do so by being misrepresented. 

At this point. Honor Montcalm threw back the lace veil 
slie had worn and listened with an agitation she could hard- 
ly control. She sat with her friend Mrs. Blair in a close 
carriage drawn up in the shadow of a tree. Colonel Blair, 
who had come with them, had got out of the ' carriage to 
speak to friends in the crowd. Honor had come expect- 
ing, yet dreading to hear ' Heathcliff denounce the under- 
hand methods which certain unscrupulous spirits had used 
in conducting the campaign on her father ^s side. She 
trembled lest she should hear that father^s high name pub- 
licly lowered by being connected with these dishonest 
methods. Since the burning of his factory there had been 
a strong reaction among the masses in Heathcliff^ s favor. 
It was felt that he had been wronged. • The scales had 
fallen from the eyes of many who had been blinded by the 
specious representations of young Hall and his confreres. 
There was a suppressed feeling that injustice had been done 
to a man to whom the city and the state at large owed 
much, and it needed but a touch of inflammatory elo- 
quence from Heathcliff to. make this burst out in open in- 
dignation. 

But no such touch came from Heathchff, and Honor 
drew a deep breath of relief as she listened, while her heart 
beat with admiration ' of the man who forbore to use the 
means of retaliation which were ready to his hand. Did 
he forbear for her sake? Honor thought not so. The 
motive which might have endeared him to some women 
would have detracted from him in the eyes of this woman 
who put honor above love. It was the magnanimity of the 
man, she said to herself, which made him forbear to ex- 
pose one who, though now an opponent, had once been a 
friend. 


352 * kildee; ok^ the sphikx of the bed house. 

Heathcliff did not allude to the charge which had been 
flaunted by The Eattler that he had turned off a num- 
ber of his factory hands because he believed they would 
not vote for him. He refuted the charge^ however, by 
showing plainly the necessity which had caused him to 
restrict operations at his mills during this almost panic 
summer. Other factories in this and neighboring states 
had closed doors for months. He showed by figures that 
he had run his mills at a loss to himself. When it became 
necessary to reduce the number of hands, it had not been 
done by drawing lots as some of the men had wished, because 
this had not appeared to him perfectly fair. It seemed bet- 
ter to dismiss those who v'ere best able to do without the 
money their work at the mills might bring. He had made 
strict inquiry into the circumstances of the hands before 
he had dismissed any. 

When he spoke of the burning of the factory it was only 
to regret it, less as a loss of property than as a loss of what 
had been pride and an object of keen interest to him and, 
as he believed, of profit and pride to the city. It was 
gone. The place where it had stood was now a blank 
vacancy — a blot upon the city^s prosperity. But it should 
not remain long so. The building, as was well known, had 
been hardly half covered by insurance. Its loss had crippled 
him severely, but it had not wholly disabled him. The 
Eattler had declared him on the brink of bankruptcy. ) 
Friendly capitalists had stretched out their hands to him, 
and the factory would be rebuilt. Work would soon be be- 
gun upon it. 

Applause and cries of ‘^When? When rang ihroiiijli- 
out the crowd. 

“ Not next month, nor next week,^^ he answered. 

To-morrow at sunrise the first blows will be struck to- 
ward rebuilding the destroyed factory. In a very few 
months the whir of busy wheels will again be heard in 
Factory Eow, 


KILDEE; OR, THE SPHIHX OE THE RED HOUSE. 353 

Deafening shouts of applause went up from the crowd. 
Heathcliff^s factory had been the pride of the city. Its de- 
struction had been a state loss; the announcement that it 
would be rebuilt and by its former owner, whom all feared 
was hopelessly disabled in business, was a cause for public 
gratulation. What he promised all knew would be per- 
formed. The applause continued after he left the stand, 
and when a sturdy, plainly dressed man appeared on the 
IDlatform and it was understood that he was an advocate of 
Heathcliff, he was greeted with cheers. He was recognized 
as a master machinist, once a citizen of Wallport, but now 
living in an adjoining state — a worthy and reliable man. 
He said he had never spoken in public before in his life, 
but he had seen the tricks employed by the opposition to 
injure Heathcliff, and he wanted to add his testimony to 
what the mayor had been obliged to say in his vindication. 
He was not now in Heathcliff ’s employ, but for ten years 
he had worked in his machine-shop, and never once, he 
could honestly say, had he been treated other than squarely. 
Once the boss had spoken to him in a quick harsh way, 
but he came and apologized for it as man to man. Once, 
he had been discharged, but it was for drunkenness. It 
was in the days when he had loved whisky too well. In the 
sickly summer of ’ 75 , when his family were down with 
fever, Heathcliff had visited and helped them as he had the 
sick folks in Factory Eow this summer where the dengue 
was so bad. He had done one thing that showed the man 
more than any other act. It came to my ears,^^ said the 
machinist, by accident. It^s known to most of you that 
the man who is now in jail for firing Heathcliff’s mill, as a 
good many more ought to be, had been discharged from 
his employ for repeated misconduct, and that he made his 
wife quit out of spite, and made it his business to abuse 
Heathcliff at every street corner; but it is not known ex- 
cept to some few folks at the Eow that the mayor has sup- 
ported this man^s family all the summer, and every bit of 


354 kildee; ok^, the sphihx of the bed house. 

bread they- had put in their mouthy every shoe they had 
put on their feet came from him. Write that down on the 
credit side of the man you try to call a heartless money- 
grinder, said the old machinist as he put his hat on his 
head and turned to go. There's lot of things like it I 
could tell you, but I have said enough." 

No, no, go on," shouted the crowd. ‘^Heathcliff! 
H ur rah for Heathcliff ! Goon." 

But another figure had appeared on the stand — a lithe, 
youthful figure — a dark palely glowing face, eyes that 
flashed half-mockingly over the crowd. It was the first 
time the dashing boy speaker had ever failed to be greeted 
with applause when he appeared, but now there were no 
cheers. He was known to be the bitterest nounder of 
Heathcliff. The Battler had every morning been filled 
with his venomed attacks. And Heathcliff just now was 
upborne on the fickle wave of popular favor. There were 
a few hisses and loud cries of ‘‘ Down, Hall; go on, old 
man. Heathcliff forever!" 

He threw up his handsome head defiantly. There came 
a second's pause; then, high and clear, with its daring, 
mocking note, rang the bugle voice of the boy: 

I shall speaE about Heathcliff. It is why I am here.'^ 

The old man stepped down. The young Alci blades threw 
back his curls with a toss of liis handsome head and looked 
over the expectant crowd: 

I come to speak of Heathcliff," he said, ‘‘ but — 1 
come to bury your Caesar, not to praise him. I come to 
bury him in a sepulcher of infamy from which there is no 
resurrection! Never shall he wear the crown of state — he, 
the hypocrite, the poltroon, the criminal!" 

The word cut sharp and clear through the silence. A 
shock ran over the crowd; then hisses and cries of “ Liar, 
slanderer!'" filled the air. But again rang the bugle voice; 

I come prepared to prove the charge I make! 1 hurl 
it m the teeth of the arch-hypocrite standing there, and he 


KILDEE; OE, the SPHIHX of the EED house. 355 

dare not deny it! Fellow-citizens^ under the whitest of 
sheep-skins there has walked the blackest of wolves amongst 
you — a man who under the guise of high morality, the model 
official, the patriotic citizen, the spotless, the pattern Chris- 
tian — has outraged the laws of morality and the laws of his 
land. Listen, and you shall hear: 

Two years ago this city was thrown into commotion by 
the murder of one of her best citizens. Captain Montcalm, 
a brave ex-soldier, and the brother of our gallant general, 
was stabbed in his own home by the hand of his wife. The 
woman disappeared. She packed her jewels and other 
valuables, she stepped across the pool of her husband^s 
blood, into the night and the streets of Wallport, and there 
she disappeared as utterly as though the earth had opened 
and swallowed her. In vain the city was searched from 
end to end; the trains, the outbound vessels. In vain the 
telegraph-wires flashed the woman ^s crime and the descrip- 
tion of her person across the continent. In vain rewards 
were offered and trained detectives put upon the scent; 
Laura Montcalm was not found. It has come to be be- 
lieved that she drowned herself on the night of the murder. 
But she did not drown herself. 8he did not leave the city. 
She has remained here cunningly hidden by her lover — a 
man whom no one dared to suspect. She remained here, 
harbored as his mistress, by an arch-hypocrite — the chief 
official of the city, bound by his oath of office to protect 
that city^s interests. Ay! Laura Montcalm — the husband- 
slayer — has, for two years, been harbored in this city by 
his honor, the Mayor of Wallport.''^ 

Had a bolt of deafening thunder fell from the starlighted 
sky it could not have more startled and electrified the peo- 
ple. For a moment, a silence as of the death-chamber fell 
upon the assembly. The murmurs rose and swelled: 
voices began to vociferate : 

False! Slander! Prove it! Where is your proof? 
Your proof 


356 kildee; oe, the sphihx oe the eed house. 

Hazard made a step forward and pointed to Heath- 
cliff. 

“ Proof?^^ he cried. There it is!* There, in that white 
face; there, in those blanched lips; there, in those guilty 
eyes! Look at the man! What other proof is needed? 
But you shall have other proof. Do you see your sheriff 
yonder? He has just arrested and placed under guard, as 
his prisoner, Laura Montcalm, the murderess! She sits at 
this moment with the irons on her white wrists, stripped of 
the disguise in which she has eluded justice. For this 
model mayor and would-be goyernor has not only been ac» 
cessory to capital crime by harboring a criminal, but he 
has been guilty of fraud in stealing the personality of a 
woman who died two years since in a foreign land, and in 
it wrapping the criminal he wished to hide from justice. 
In this disguise she has sat by his side in your theater; by 
his side in his carriage as it rolled through your streets. 
Fellow-citizens, the daring imposition is. scarcely credible, 
but it is true! For two years Laura Montcalm has lived 
among you as Miss Faust — the deformed woman of the Red 
House!^^ 

The last charm had been cast into the caldron. Com- 
motion and wild confusion ensued. The crowd surged like 
the waves of a storm-lashed ocean. Opposing utterances 
clashed against each other. There were a few shouts for 
Heathcliff — a few cries of A lie! A hatched- up cam- 
paign lie!^^ But these were drowned in hisses and vocifera- 
tions of ‘‘ Hypocrite!^^ Villain!^^ Down with him!^^ 
‘‘ Away with him to jail!^^ “ Confess it or deny it!^^ 

Make him deny it or own it!^^ Up with you, and own 
it, or prove it a lie!^^ 

But when, at length, the mayor^s well known form arose, 
not upon the speaker's stand, but upon the steps of the 
monument, a hush fell upon the assembly. 

He was pale as the background of granite stone against 
which he stood. The burned scar across his face showed 


kildee; ok, the sphihx of the red house. 357 

lurid purple in the torch-light. Twice he essayed to speak 
but strong emotion choked his utterance. At length he 
conquered it. Strong and full, but with a vibrating tremor 
of feeling rang his voice: 

^^Fellow-citizens, what you have heard is true! I have 
concealed Laura Montcalm for two years from the pursu- 
ing law which had such overwhelming evidence against her. 
I did it for two reasons. First — Laura Moutcalm is inno- 
cent of murder — as innocent as the whitest-souled child. 
Secondly — the claim of nature — of kindred blood — demand- 
ed that I should protect her. Laura Montcalm is my sis- 
ter. 

A loud, clear laugh of derision — Hazard^s laugh — was 
the comment. 

Oh, white innocence! Oh, new-found relationship,^^ 
cried his mocking voice. Innocence that we are asked 
to believe in the face of the most damning facts. Eela- 
tionship that nobody ever heard of in all these years! Oh! 
most romantic! Had she a strawberry mark upon her 
arm, my honorable mayor? Too thin, your excellency. 
AVe are not all fools, my good Sunday-school superin- 
tendent.'^^ 

‘^Too thin!'’^ echoed the crowd. ^^We are not such 
fools as to accept your word for it!^^ 

The strongly excited crowd surged toward the monument. 
In the lead were a dozen roughs, half drunk and reckless. 
Their controlling instinct was to pull down all that was 
above them. They saw now a chance to strike one who 
seemed down — the under dog in the fight, and they 
hastened to obey this savage instinct, yelling, Down with 
him!^^ The Sunday-school hypocrite !^^ ^^The goody- 
good villain!^^ The people^s oppressor. The greedy 
monopolistic^ Down with himl^^ 

They gathered ferocity as they yelled and pushed. Their 
blood-shot eyes darted venomous determination. The 
police seemed cowed. The few who appeared on the scene 


358 kildee; oe^ the sphthx of the bed house. 

appeared powerless to assert their authority over that 
fierce, drunken crew, armed with sticks and stones. 

On they pressed to the monument, Heathclifi stood there 
— ^his agitation (which had not been for himself) wholly 
subdued; his^form erect, his face pale yet masterful. 

They flung themselves against him. He parried one 
blow and then another with his light walking-cane, wielded 
by his one sound arm. A red-faced giant raised his heavy 
bludgeon with what seemed murderous intent, but a voice 
— a woman’s voice — arrested the blow. He stopped and 
stared in stupid wonder in the direction whence the voice 
came. 

In that direction there had been a counter stir. The 
crowd had fallen back in confusion. A pair of strong, 
black horses, urged by furious lashing at the driver’s hands, 
broke a passage through the throng. They were reined up 
beside the monument. The door of the carriage to which 
they were attached burst open, and a woman stood on the 
step — tall, white-clad, death-pale. 

Cowards!” cried her high, sustained voice. A score 
of you falling upon one disabled man! Citizens, will you 
permit a fellow-man to be killed before your eyes in this 
way?” 

As she spoke, a stone hurled by some reckless hand 
struck the mayor on the forehead. The blood spurted; 
the man staggered back against the stone pillar. 

Again the girl’s voice rang out, with a thrill of anguish 
sounding through it. Here! For God’s sake, bring him 
here. My purse, a purse of gold to those who will bring 
him here. ” 

Even in that moment of excited brute-instinct, the word 
gold was a charm. Strong arms seized Ira Heathclifi and 
bore his half-insensible form to the carriage. He was 
placed on the seat; the black horses once more forced their 
way through the crowd, while Hazard Hall uttered a fierce 
oath. 


kildee; or, the sphii^’x of the red house. 359 

By all the devils he cried. It is Honor Montcalm. 
She has compromised herself forever. 


CHAPTER XLVm. 

To Mayor Heathcliff’s house/ ^ Honor cried to the 
driver, and once more the black horses forced a passage 
through the crowd. 

Oh, Honor, Honor,^^ whimpered Mrs. Blair, what 
will people say? what will your father say? Such a bad 
man — your poor uncle ^s murderer too!^^ 

Honor did not heed — scarcely heard her. She had put 
her own cloak under Heathcliff^s head. She bent over 
him, wiped the blood from his forehead, and bathed his 
face with the contents of Mrs. Blair ^s vinaigrette. He was 
only stunned. He soon opened his eyes, he saw her face 
bending over him and a smile touched his lips. 

You live! thank Heaven, you hve,''^ she uttered in low, 
joyous accents. 

His face darkened with a passionate despair. 

I live; it would be better not so,^^ he said. 

Ah, do not say that!^^ 

Why should I not? Defamed; my sister in prison; you 
lost to me! Why should I live?^^ 

She took up his hand and laid it against her cheek. 

Courage, she whispered, for my sake.'’^ 

He turned his lighted eyes upon her. 

Honor, can you, do you believe in me?^^ 

With all my soul.^^ 

He raised himself from his drooping posture. He 
pushed the blood-stained hair from his brow and his eyes 
sought hers. 

I will live, he said, will conquer! I will prove 
her innocence and mine. It is a hard task, but it shall be 
accomplished. 


360 kildee; oe, the sphihx oe the bed house. 

Would I might help you/^ she said^ earnestly. 

You do help me uuspeakably, my beloved. Yoii give 
me belief^ sympathy^ and this is hope and life to me. I 
thank you, dearest, for your belief in the possibility of my 
sister^s innocence. She is innocent. I saw it in her face 
the instant I told her that her husband had been killed. I 
saw that she knew nothing of it till then. She had come 
to me that night and said : ‘ You are my brother. I have 
just read it in my dead father ^s writing. I have come to 
you because I am miserable. Let me stay with you, I have 
no other home. ^ Until that moment I had not known she 
was my sister. I had never heard her maiden name; my 
own name was unfamiliar to her. I read the letter she 
gave me — written by her father and mine. He had been 
separated from his first wife— my mother. The union was 
uncongenial. She returned to her father with her child, 
and took back her family name. He removed to another 
state, and, after some years, married again. His wife died 
when their child Laura was an infant. His daughter never 
heard him speak of his first marriage. She was away from 
him when he died. When he felt he must leave her alone, 
he told his confidential clerk of his former marriage, and 
the existence of his son. He confided to this m^n — David 
Holt — a letter for his daughter, but to be given to her only 
in the event that she needed a brother's protection. Laura 
returned from Europe the wife of Captain Montcalm. 
They came here, and the faithful Holt accompanied them. 
When she went to Aphrodite Island that fatal day, he fol- 
lowed her to watch over her, and give her her father ^s let- 
ter. He thought the time had come when she needed a 
brother's protection. He put the letter into her hand as 
she was entering her husband^ s house and begged her to 
read it at once. Captain Montcalm stood in the door of 
his study and stopped her as she was going to her room. 
He was excited with anger and wine. He was abusive, vio- 
lent. Once he seemed about to strike her, and she snatched 


kildee; ok, the sphikx of the red house. 361 

the little jewel-hilted dagger from her belt. He struck it 
from out of her hand, and she turned and fled from him 
and locked herself in her room. She never saw him again. 
She read our father^s letter, hastily collected her jewels and 
came to me. Half an hour later I was summoned to the 
scene of the murder. I realized that the evidence against 
her would be fatal, and I determined to conceal her until I 
could get her out of the country. The next day came a let- 
ter telling me that Miss Faust had died in Germany. The 
thought flashed on me that I might save my sister by dis- 
guising her as the recluse of the Eed House. The next 
day the city papers announced the return of Miss Faust. 
You know the rest. You know that she was seen without 
the disguise, and the house was searched. Little Kildee 
saved her then — an act of voluntary self-sacriflce. It only 
postponed what was inevitable. They have hunted her 
down at last. She, the delicate, proud,. innocent woman 
occupies a criminaFs cell to-night; and there is not one 
human being who does not think this horrible fate is just. 
There is none to believe her innocent. 

I believe it,^^ Honor said. 

You? Ah, my beloved, I thank you. You are more 
than woman in your self-forgetful pity. You have stood 
by me when others deserted me. It will always be a pre- 
cious remembrance. But you must do so no more. You 
must not bring down loss of friends and blame upon your- 
self for me. The thought that you have faith in me is as 
life to my soul; but you must givg no more outward signs 
of kindness to me. I can claim none — not until I have 
cleared my name and hers from this stain. If I can not 
do this — then I must be content to think what you might 
have been to me. I could not ask you to cross the gulf 
Fate has dug between us; and yet — 

He stopped and looked at her — a look full of wistful 
anguish. She did not speak; her eyes met his and he 
understood. He felt that in the alternative he had spoken 


362 KILDEE; OR, THE SPHIKX OF THE RED HOUSE. 

of there would he no hope. She could not incur the undying 
anger of the father she loved by giving her hand to a man 
he believed to have been accessory to his brother's mur- 
der. 

Mrs. Blair touched Honor with a trembling hand. 

We are at Mr. Heathclift'^s house/" she said. The 
carriage has stopped, and so has a cab that has been follow- 
ing us. I think it is the general getting out. Dear me, 
we shall have a scene!"" 

Heathcliff rose at once, but with some difficulty, for his 
brain was yet reeling. He alighted from the carriage with- 
out assistance. Standing beside it an instant, he thanked 
Mrs. Blair, and clasped the hand that Honor held out to 
him. He clung to it as a drowning man might cling to a 
hand held out to save him. Neither saw the white wrath- 
ful face of General Montcalm until their hands were 
stricken apart, tod Honor, turning, saw her father, saw 
him raise a heavy stick which would have descended upon 
Heathclilf had she not seized it and held it with all her 
strength. 

Go,"" she said to Heathcliffi Go, if you love me."" 

He bent his head and turned into his own gate. 

Is this my father who has so lost control over himself.^"" 
Honor said as she loosed her grasp upon the stick. 

Is this my daughter who has forgotten her woman"s 
modesty in her bold efforts to shield a felon?"" he answered, 
his eyes flashing sternly upon her. 

‘^I have not forgotten my womanhood. I have only 
obeyed its promptings in trying to save from cowardly 
massacre a man who saved my life — a man I believe to be 
innocent."" 

You mean then to defy me? You mean to cast your- 
self out from my respect and the respect of every friend 
you possess, by clinging to that man?"" 

I shall not defy or disobey you, my father. I could 
not help doing what I have done to-night. I do not repent 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 363 

it, but I will not repeat it. I will not do anything like it 
again. Whatever I may feel toward Mr. Heathcliff, I shall 
remember my duty to you.'’^ 

She spoke coldly, mechanically, but her father was satis- 
fied. He knew he could trust her to keep her word. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

For nearly three days the case of the state against Laura 
Montcalm for the murder of her husband, had been before 
the criminal court of Wallport. The trial might have 
been put off until the next session of court, but such was 
not the wish of the prisoner.. Her earnest request to her 
counsel was that the case should be brought forward at 
once. The prison life was more than she could bear. 

Better death — better any death, she said to her 
brother in the one interview they were granted. This,^^ 
looking around at her grated cell with a shudder; this is 
the torture of the Inquisition. It will bring worse than 
death. I shall go mad. 

So, at the next meeting of the Superior Court — four 
weeks after her arrest — Laura Montcalm^s trial came be- 
fore the judge, the jury and the people who filled the large 
court-room — an interested and excited throng. 

During that four weeks^ interregnum, Heathcliff^s efforts 
in his sister^s behalf had been unremitting. He had with- 
drawn at once from the political contest; he had given 
bond for his own appearance on a charge of complicity in 
crime, and he had devoted his time, energies and money to 
employing every means to save the prisoner from the fate 
that seemed inevitable. He engaged the best criminal law- 
yers of the State. He studied the case with them, and fol- 
lowed out every encouraging idea they were able to suggest, 
or that occurred to his own anxious^ unresting mind. But 
with no hopeful result. The lawyers shook their heads, 
and declared that the case looked darker the more it was 


364 kildee; or^ the -sphinx of the red house. 

studied. But to postpone the trial seemed to promise 
nothing. They could only rest their case on the uncer- 
tainty of circumstantial evidence; yet it was plain to every 
one that there were instances where circumstantial evidence 
was stronger than the testimony of eye-witnesses; and this 
seemed such an instance. 

On this third day of the trials, the court had adjourned 
until the afternoon. The trial was nearly at an end. The^ 
evidence, yro and con, would be summed up by the chief 
attorney for the State and for the prisoner, and the case 
submitted to the jury. The result did not admit of a 
doubt. Laura Montcalm^s lawyers had been unable to 
bring forward a single circumstance to shake the impres- 
sion of her guilt. 

Judge Adam Collier — the well-known eccentric criminal 
lawyer, chief counsel for the defense— had left the court- 
room at eleven o^clock and gone down to the depot. He had 
telegraphed his wife to send him a certain French legal 
work he wished to refer to, and he was looking for it to 
arrive on the eleven o^ clock train. lie received the volume 
from the hands of a friend, who asked at once: 

Well, judge, how does the Montcalm case come on? 
We think down our way you’ve got a hard nut this time.’’ 

We can’t tell yet,” was the answer. It hasn’t gone 
to the jury, and something may turn up at the eleventh 
hour. ’' 

Excuse me; are you the counsel for Mrs. Montcalm?” 

Yes,” he answered, looking inquiringly at the tall, 
pale, gray-haired, peculiar-looking person who stood before 
him in a traveling rig, accompanied by another man, young, 
fair-haired and with a pleasant, half -foreign face. 

Then I have something to communicate to you — some- 
thing that has an important bearing on the case.” 

Ah,” said the lawyer, his face brightening. Come 
with me to my room at the Sharon House. I will hear 
what you have to say with pleasure. ” 


KILDEE; or, the sphinx of the RED HOUSE. 365 

The three left the depot together, entered the hotel 
across the street, and were soon shut within Judge Collier^s 
comfortable room. Seated here, the sallow-gray but not 
old-looking man began to talk, and the lawyer to listen 
with increasing interest, taking notes rapidly in the short- 
hand peculiar to himself. At the end of an hour he rose: 
he shook hands with the singular-looking man; his gray 
deep-set eyes had an unwonted twinkle. He rang the bell 
and ordered brandy cocktails for three. Then he sent 
a telephone message to Heathcliff requesting him to come 
at once to the hotel. 

Two hours later when the court opened its afternoon sit- 
ting the great room was as full of people as a theater on the 
first night of a favorite starts reappearance. Conspicuous 
among the assembly were the leonine head and massive fig- 
ure of General Montcalm. He had occupied that seat — 
near the bar — all through the trial. He had not missed a 
syllable that had been said. He had sat there, a stern- 
eyed, relentless Nemesis, it seemed to the pale prisoner. 
Once only she had met his eye. Its cruel lightning seemed 
as though it meant to blast her. Honor had not been in 
the court-room before; but she was present now, wearing 
a veil of thick lace, and plainly dressed. She could not 
force herself to stay away. Her anxiety was too absorbing, 
her hunger for a sight of the face of him she loved and had 
not seen for weary weeks; her desire to show him by some 
look or token that her sympathy was still strong and her 
faith in him unshaken. 

Hazard Hall was in his usual place near the front where 
he took notes in short-hand for The Eattler.^^ His man- 
ner was nervous and excited, his face haggard and changed. 

One would fancy that he, who was so ambitious of suc- 
cess, would feel elated at the way things had gone. By 
ferreting out the criminal in a case that had baffled trained 
detectives, he had at once achieved Mat, crushed a polit- 
ical enemy and rival, strengthened the favor of a powerful 


366 kildee; oe^ the sphihx of the eed house. 

patron^ and won a large money reward which would be his 
as soon as Laura Montcalm was pronounced guilty. 

Yet he did not look like a victor. Truth to tell, he was 
haunted, day and night, by the face of the prisoner at the 
bar. It had come up before him persistently ever since he 
had seen her lying asleep in her white nest, with that look 
on her fair face which spokb of tears, of wounded pride, but 
did not speak of guilt. He had thought of her — the deli- 
cate refined woman — in her prison cell with a pang of re- 
morse. He had gone to the jail to see her, but she had 
refused him an interview. He had sent her fiowers many 
times, stipulating that she should not be told who was the 
donor. During the trial, her face had fascinated him so 
he could hardly keep his eyes from it. So proud, so 
pure,^^ he said to himself. She can not be guilty. And 
it is I who brought this doom upon her. But for me, it 
would never have fallen. Her disguise would never have 
been penetrated. How she must hate me!^^ 

He shook off the feeling manfully. He who boasted that 
he was an exponent of the nineteenth century spirit must 
not give way to the weakness of sentiment. He scorned 
sentiment. He said to himself that his suit for Honor 
Montcalm was prompted by ambition, policy — perhaps 
passion. The spirit of the age allowed passion, only it 
must obey the check-rein of policy. 

He was particularly nervous this afternoon. He twirled 
the pencil in his slender fingers; he looked out over the 
crowd and stole frequent furtive glances at the prisoner. In 
a few hours her fate would be pronounced. She must know 
that it would be death, or life-long imprisonment. How 
could she sit so like a statue of marble? And where was 
Heathcliff— rher alleged brother, as ‘‘The Battler was 
wont to style him? Why was he not beside her as he had 
been always during the trial? Surely at this hour she 
needed the support of his presence more than ever before. 

She did need the support of his presence. She could 


kildee; or^ the sphihx oe the red house. 367 

not conjecture why he did not come. She sat the cynosure 
of all those eyes. She felt them on her face. She had not 
worn a veil through all the trial. She would not cover her 
face as though guilt were stamped upon it. But now she 
longed for some sort of screen to interpose between her 
face and all those eyes — more than all those stern, pitiless 
eyes of that haughty, lion-faced old man — her dead hus- 
band^s brother. The black dress made the whiteness of 
her delicate, high-bred face almost startling. By what 
mighty effort it kept its proud, gentle composure was 
known only to the tensely strung brain and heart within. 
She sat looking down at the cluster of tea-roses and the 
note in Heathcliff ^s writing which had been handed her. 

‘‘ Be of good cheer, said the penciled lines, there has 
been an unlooked-for interposition in our favor. I am not 
with you, but I am working for you.'^^ 

The words had made her heart flutter with a momentary 
hope, but it died out as the attorney for the prosecution 
went on with his closing speech. It was a summing-up of 
the evidence against her. Surely never was there so damn- 
ing an array of circumstances. Her heart sunk lower and 
lower as she listened. She admitted to herself that it must 
seem impossible any hand but hers had struck the blow. 
The house was locked. There was no one in it but those 
two. It was known that she was at variance with her hus- 
band — that she had that day openly disobeyed and defied 
him. She had been seen, face to face, by two persons as 
she came out of the house by a back door muffled and dis- 
guised. Within they had found her husband dead, and in 
his breast the dagger she had worn all day in her Ijelt. 
“ Her flight was in itself a convincing proof of her guilt, 
said the Statens attorney, and as, pointing his long quiver- 
ing forefinger at her face he called her the Clytemnestra 
of the Nineteenth Century; the viper who had stung to 
death the generous heart that cherished it,^^ a half smile 
of bitter self -irony came to her lips, and she felt like bow- 


368 kildee; ok, the sphinx of the ked house. 

ing her head in acknowledgment of the truth of the accusa- 
tion. She felt that in all that assembly there was not one 
who doubted it. 

A hum of voices filled the court-room as the Statens at- 
torney sat down. Laura Montcalm understood the import 
of that murmur. Indeed she caught a fragment of it — gal- 
lows, penitentiary for life. 

‘‘ God grant it be the rope!^^ she said in her heart. 

And then she suddenly felt herself grow insensible — cal- 
lous to whatever might happen. 

The jury^s verdict, the judge^s sentence, she felt indiffer- 
ent to them. She lifted her head and saw beyond the 
cruel, staring eyes, the open window and the blue sky and 
white dream-like clouds of the Indian summer. 

‘‘And there is a God, and we are His children, she 
said to herself, with that doubting, mocking half-smile 
touching her mouth. 

She did not heed that her counsel had risen and was 
about to speak with his usual deliberation. She looked out 
at the blue sky and the white clouds, wondering vaguely 
why God had created beings to pass through this fever and 
delirium called life. 

Something in her lawyer^ s voice — some new slight chord, 
made her look at him. His face was impassive as ever; 
the twinkle that had been in his gray eye three hours ago 
was now suppressed. There was nothing in his appearance 
to found a hope upon, but he was making an unexpected 
request. He was asking permission to bring forward a new 
witness for the defense — a witness vvho had arrived that day 
by the Northern train. 

A spare man, with close-cut gray hair, a face worn and 
sallow, with strange sad eyes and a red triangular scar high 
up on his temple, came to the witness-stand. His manner 
was composed, yet a close observer might suspect that he 
was holding strong emotion in check. He lost control of 
himself for one second only. He took the witness’s oath 


KILDEE; or, the SPHIKX of the RED HOUSE. 369 

with calmness, he looked over the faces of the j ury, the 
judge, the lawyers, but when his eyes fell upon the prisoner 
he gave a perceptible start, a flush came into his thin cheek 
and he looked hurriedly away. 

She, on her part, looked at him in a bewildered way as 
though recognition struggled with reason. 

He began his statement. His name, he said, was David 
Hoffman Holt. He was known in this city where he had 
been for some years head clerk in the warehouses belonging 
to Captain Montcalm. 

At this announcement Laura hardly refrained from utter- 
ing a cry. She had thought that this man — this true 
friend, was dead — ^others had thought so too. A murniur 
went through the crowd, and the Statens attorney said: 

I beg pardon for interrupting the witness, but during 
the progress of this trial, it has been stated that David 
Holt, head clerk of Captain Montcalm, was imbecile — had 
been rendered so by an attack of brain-fever, had escaped 
from an asylum for persons of unsound mind and was * 
thought to be dead, as nothing had been heard of him for 
many months. ^ 

Part of this statement is true,^^ the witness said, calm- 
ly, though his pallid face had flushed and the triangular 
scar on his temple turned purple. A brain-fever did 
produce a temporary derangement of mind. I lost all 
recollection of past events except those of early childhood. 

I lost the power of speech in a great measure, and the 
faculty of reason. I was placed for treatment in an insti- 
tute for the cure of brain and nerve diseases, from which I 
one day wandered away. Being considered harmless I was 
not under strict surveillance. I fell in with kind-hearted 
people, however, who cared for me. Six weeks ago, the 
pain in my head, which had troubled me at intervals, grew 
more severe and I was thrown into a high fever. I was^ 
then traveling with my friends. They stopped and sent 
for a physician. He was a skillful and noted surgeon. He 


370 kilbee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 

made an examination, and found that all my brain trouble 
had resulted from a blow on the head which had fractured 
the skull. The broken part pressing on the brain had caused 
the inflammation, the fever and the mental derangement 
and loss of recollection. He had had several similar cases, 
and had relieved two of these by the operation of trepan- 
ning the skull. He proposed to try this operation in my 
behalf, as it was the only hope of a cure. My friends Qon- 
sented. The fractured part of the skull was removed by 
the surgeon^s saw, the bruised brain and membrane re- 
moved, and a silver plate fastened over the wound and the 
skin replaced. You can see the scar of the recently healed 
wound. After’the fever had subsided, and I had slept for 
thirty hours without stirring, I woke restored to a healthy 
mental state. My thoughts were at flrst confused, but they 
soon grew, clear and immediately spoke of the last vivid im- 
pression my mind had taken on— the killing of Captain 
Montcalm. My friends had not known my name or former 
associations, but they had chanced to read of the trial of 
Mrs. Montcalm for murder, and the supposed complicity of 
Mayor Heathclifl in the crime. I was told of it, and ‘I 
hastened here the very hour my strength permitted, that I 
might save an innocent woman, and clear the name of a 
blameless man. I have the certiflcate of the physician who 
attended me, also his sworn deposition that I began to 
speak of the murder, and gave a statement (which I shall 
presently give you), as soon as my reason was restored. I 
have also with me one of the friends who nursed me in my 
illness, and who will corroborate my statement. As to my 
identity with David Holt, this cruel fever has turned me 
into a prematurely old man, with this gray hair and these 
sunken eyes, but surely I have acquaintances in this court- 
room who recognize David Holt. 

Yes, yes, I know you.^^ I know you.'^^ He^s been 
through the furnace, but it’s David Holt. ITl swear to 
him,” cried several voices. 


Kildee; oE;, the sphihx of the eed house. 371 

Order was called for, and the witness was told to resume 
his statement and tell what he knew of the murder. Short- 
ened of the details elicited by cross-questioning and by the 
arbitrary requirements of legal formality, the story he told 
was this: 

When he had brought Mrs. Montcalm back from the 
island, had given her her father^s letter telling her that Ira 
Heathcliff was her brother, and had seen her enter her hus- 
band '’s house, he - did not go away as she bade him. Anx- 
iety on her account kept him standing on the portico. He 
knew of her husband^s threats; he knew of his violent tem- 
per; he feared that in his mad fury he might attempt to 
injure her, and there was no one to protect her, not even a 
servant in the house. Presently he heard excited voices; 
he could refrain no longer from going in. He could do 
this, as Mrs. Montcalm had left the latch-key in the lock. 
He opened the door and went in. The voice he had heard 
was Captain Montcalm'^s and proceeded from the library at 
the further end of the hall. Before the door of the library 
he saw Mrs. Montcalm standing, white and defiant. Her 
husband stood just within the door. David could not see 
his form, only the menacing arm as he confronted his wife 
and denounced her in bitter, violent language. He was be- 
side liimself with rage and probably excited by wine. He 
seemed to threaten her with personal violence, for she drew 
back and took out of her belt a little jeweled dagger — an 
heir-loom in her family — which she had worn that day. 

Touch me at your peril,'’^ he heard her say. Her hus- 
band struck the blade from her hand. She did not pick it 
up; she looked at him an instant — seeming to struggle for 
self-command, and then turned, darted past David Holt, as 
he stood against the wall, partly screened by a stand that 
held pots of geraniums, and fied upstairs. Captain Mont- 
calm had started in pursuit, but he stopped (so near to 
David that he might have touched him), as he heard her 
shut and lock her door. He turned back toward his study, 

6-2d half. 


372 kildee; on , the sphinx of the red house/ 

his foot struck against the little dagger^ and he picked it 
up, looked at it grimly, and laid it down on a shelf of a lit- 
tle cabinet that stood in the hall. As he was doing tliis a 
hand parted the curtain that hung before the door of the 
room opposite the library, and a woman came out — a dark, 
slender, handsome creature, who David at once knew must 
be the Mexican woman who had a claim upon Captain 
Montcalm. David had heard the story before, and this 
evening Laura had told him of the interview the woman 
had had with Captain Montcalm in the old cemetery. It 
was the revelation she had then overheard which had stung 
the wife into defiance of her husband^s command. 

The dark lady approached Captain Montcalm from be- 
hind, and put her hand on his arm. 

^^Well,^^ she said, you did not keep your promise. 
You did not tell that woman you would discard her, as you 
swore to me you would- if she disobeyed you.""^ 

Captain Montcalm wheeled and glared at her, white with 
rage. 

What the devil are you doing here still? I thought 
you had left this house an hour ago. 

I did not leave it,^^ she said, I stayed to witness the 
interview with that woman, and to hear you discard her as 
you swore you would. I did not hear it. So you mean to 
make up with her, do you — false and cowardly that you 
are. 

What is that to you? Leave me. It is enough to be 
driven wild by one^s own wife, let alone — 

Your own wife! This is what I have a right to be. T 
will not go away. I will stay here. To-morrow if you do 
not leave that woman I will tell her everything. I will 
proclaim you through the city. 

‘‘Curse you, you Spanish fiend Captain Montcalm 
cried. He picked up an oblong slab of onyx from the cabi- 
net shelf and menaced her with it. The gleam of the dag- 
ger caught her eye. Sne snatched it up and said something 


^ KILDEE; OK^ THE SPHINX OF THE RED HOUSE. 373 

sneeringly in Spanish. It seemed to madden him; he 
raised the slab with tensely drawn muscles, and the blow 
would have fallen on her head had not David rushed be- 
tween them. The slab struck him on the temple and he 
reeled back stunned against the wall. But he had an in- 
stant of vivid consciousness in which he saw the blade in 
the hand of the Spanish woman bury itself in Montcalm^ s 
breast — saw him stagger back to the library door and heard 
her cry: 

Oh, my God! what have I done?^^ 

He knew nothing more distinctly. He had a vague 
recollection of quitting the house and making his way with 
difficulty to his room in the warehouse, and of falling upon 
the bed. After that, all was blank. 


CHAPTEE L. 

David Holtzs testimony produced a decided revulsion of 
opinion in those who heard him. It impressed nearly eveiy 
one with the feeling that it was true. His earnest tone, 
his straightforward delivery, the very look of his eye, were 
convincing. Then, there was his character as it was known 
to many in Wallport. A reserved but thoroughly reliable 
and honorable man — this was the reputation he had made 
for himself during the time he was Captain Montcalm^s 
book-keeper. But there was no denying that the tale he 
told was a strange one. General Montcalm, who had 
leaned forward with his hands on his gold-headed cane — an 
eager listener, slowly shook his head. Hazard Hall was a 
creature of quick intuition. He felt that the story was 
true, and a tumult of mixed emotions was stirred up in his 
breast. Anger, disappointment, chagrin — these warred 
with a curious feeling of relief in the prospect that Laura 
Montcalm would not be convicted. 

The surgeon^s sworn deposition as to Holtzs condition 


374 kildee; ok^ the sphihx of the red house. 

previous to and after the operation of trepanning was pro- 
duced. Max Eubin^ being sworn^ substantiated the cir- 
cumstance (deposed to by the surgeon) that after waking 
from the long sleep which followed the operation^ Holt 
began directly to speak of the killing of Captain Montcalm 
and to say that it was done by the Spanish woman. 

The Statens attorney began a searching cross-examination 
of David Holt. His object was to throw a doubt upon the 
veracity of the witness and insinuate an interested motive 
for his statement. 

You are, I believe, an intimate friend of the prisoner, 
Mr. Holfc. You knew her before her marriage?^ ^ 

I have known her since she was a child. Her father 
partly raised me. 

‘‘Ah! one may say you are her foster-brother. It is 
natural it should be painful to you to see her in her present 
position — natural you should be willing to do anythmg to 
release her from it.^'’ 

“I would do anything honorable, sir,^^ David said 
steadily. 

“Ahem, yes, anything honorable. You say the blow 
dealt you by Captain Montcalm stunned you: how was it 
that, being stunned, you were enabled to see the stab given 
by Madame Gonzalis?’^ 

“ The stab was given almost at the same instant that the 
blow descended upon my skull. I saw it as plainly as I see 
you — more plainly it seems to me, for I had, as I told you 
before, a second of vivid sensation like that experienced 
by drowning men, and by soldiers who are struck with a 
shot or shell in battle. The action of the senses seems in- 
tensified — there ^s a fiash of exalted consciousness. This is 
not an uncommon experience. 

“Is it also a common phenomenon that a person after 
having lost reason and memory from a fracture of the 
brain recovers his senses as suddenly as he lost them?^^ 

“ You have in that certificate the word of Doctor Knott, 


kildee; ok^ the' sphijstx of the eed house. 375 

an experienced physician, as to this. He tells you he has 
seen in the Paris hospitals a number of cases where reason 
was suddenly restored on the cause of derangement being 
removed — the pressure of the fractured part upon the 
brain. 

Then followed a string of ingeniously worded questions 
concerning the homicide. Holt accounted for the body 
being found inside the study by the reasonable supposition 
that Captain Montcalm had staggered back into the room 
either mechanically or with the instinctive intent to ring 
for help or to get water, and had fallen when just inside 
the room, striking against the door and closing it as he fell. 
Then Mme. Gonzalis had extinguished the gas and made 
her escape, leaving the hall in darkness. Laura Mont- 
calm, when she came down-stairs on her way to seek her 
newly discovered brother, had walked dowm the dark pas- 
sage and passed out, not dreaming that her husband was 
lying in his study dead, and that she had stepped in a pool 
of his warm blood. Such was his belief as to what had 
happened after his senses failed. 

“ They will not be able to convict Mrs. Montcalm, after 
this testimony, but she will not be fully cleared in the 
minds of the people. In Scotland the verdict would not 
be ^ not proven,^ whispered one old lawyer to an- 
other. 

At this moment Mrs. Montcalm ^s counsel arose, and 
quietly begged leave to introduce another witness. A mo- 
ment before Heathclift had entered and whispered some- 
thing in his ear. 

A new witness! Who could it be? What would he 
testify? 

There was a stir, a buzz in the direction of the door. An 
invklid^s chair was seen being slowly pushed along the aisle. 
It was stopped in front of the judge — at the witness-stand. 
The chair contained the recumbent figure of a woman — a 
wasted figure*; the fingers, nervously interlocked, were thin 


376 kildee; oe^ the sphinx of the bed house. 

and bloodless; the face was covered by a veil. She re- 
moved it when the chair came to a stand. The spectators 
pressed forward to see her. A thrill passed through them, 
so supernatural looked the large, black, burning eyes and 
emaciated face, marble-like, save for a spot of fevered 
color on either cheek. The interest was intensified when 
she gave her name as Zulieme Gonzalis. She asked to be 
sworn, and gave her testimony. It was in few words; it 
was plain she had strength to utter but a few words. Yet 
so clear and true was her voice, and so breathlessly still 
was the court-room, that her confession was distinctly 
heard. 

It was a confession, brief but direct: 

‘ ‘ I come here, a dying woman, to do what I ought to 
have done long ago, but had not courage. I come here to 
say that it was I who killed Captain Montcalm. I struck 
the blow partly through self-defense, and partly because I 
was maddened by his refusal to discard the woman he had 
married, and reinstate me in my rights. For, in the sight 
of God, I was Captain Montcalni^s wife. He had married 
me in my native land of Mexico twenty-two years before, 
when I was a mere child. The ceremony was not alto- 
gether legal. It was what we Mexicans call a left-handed 
marriage, but it was held to bind a man in honor, particu- 
larly if there are children., I had a child — an infant when 
its father left me with a promise to return. He stayed 
away so long I thought myself deserted. I followed him — 
sought him everywhere. He went abroad, and I failed to 
meet him face to face until the day before I stabbed him. 
I did not kill him deliberately. He is the only man I 
ever loved, and he cared for me more than I deserved. I 
had wronged him, but I thought myself deserted and be- 
trayed, and I was reckless. I have suffered — oh! I l^ave 
suffered remorseful agony through days, through sleepless 
nights. I have been ill for weeks. I did not know until 
to-day that another had been arrested and was being tried 


kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 377 

for my deed. I could not let the other be punished for 
my sin. Do with jne as you will. It does not matter. 
My days, my hours are numbered. T have suffered beyond 
what man can make me suffer. 

The confession had been made brokenly. Weakness and 
coughing had interrupted it. At its close the woman was 
exhausted. She lay back on the pillow, her pallid face 
looking spectral against its scarlet, the great burning eyes 
half closed. Lying so, she was slowly wheeled out of the 
court- room, in the midst of profound stillness. 

The silence was presently broken by a murmur that 
grew louder and threatened to break into an acclaim of 
joyful congratulations of Mrs. Montcalm and Heathcliff. 
When Heathcliff approached his sister and silently took 
her hand, while she looked up at him, her face pale but 
glowing, her eyes swimming in tears, exclamations of un- 
controllable sympathy burst from the crowd. 

-The case was not nol. pross^d,^^ The prisoner was 
dismissed, freed from any shadow of guilt; the court ad- 
journed. No action was taken against Mrs. Gonzalis. It 
was so plain that her life was near its close, and after all 
her deed had been homicide, not murder. 

The crowd poured from the doors. In the court-yard 
outside were heard shouts for Heathcliff. Friends and 
strangers pressed forward to shake the hands of Heath- 
cliff and his sister. Some of these hands the mayor 
pressed warmly. They were' the hands of friends who had 
stood by him in his dark hour. To the congratulations of 
others, he responded courteously but coldly. He could not 
bring his straightforward nature to welcoming back these 
sunshine friends. His pale face flushed as the two figures 
approached — General Montcalm with his daughter upon 
his arm. 

The general held out his hand. 

^^I have wronged you, Heathcliff, said the bluff old 
soldier. ‘^I am sorry for it.. The cloud has passed; I 


378 kildee; oe, the sphinx of the eed house. 

believe you to be as true a man as breathes. My hand 
upon it.^^ 

Honor said nothing, but her eyes were eloquent. They 
'shone through tears, and the hand she gave to Heathcliff 
trembled like a white frightened dove. She said to Laura 
Montcalm : 

We" were strangers almost; we will be strangers no 
longer. Will you not come home with us.^^^ 

Her father echoed the invitation; but Laura thanked 
them and said: 

I will go to my brother's. It will be better for us to 
spend the, evening by ourselves/^ 

Not quite by ourselves, Heathcliff said when the 
others had turned away. David Holt will be with 

Ah, dear old David she murmured, tears springing 
to her eyes. 

‘^He is listening to that dubious compliment,^ ^ her 
brother said, smiling. 

She looked around and saw him standing near her, re- 
garding her wistfully, a strange, old-young face with a 
pathos and nobleness in its look that attracted in spite of 
the rugged features. She held out her hands to him. He 
trembled as he took them and held them a moment in his 
awkward, silent way. He longed to press them in his 
great palms, but he dared not. He stood shy and speech- 
less before the woman he had loved all his life. The sight 
of her a prisoner, the thought of how she had suffered, had 
unmanned him an hour ago. 

There was one other in the little party gathered at the 
mayor ^s house that evening. Max Kubin made the 
fourth who sat at the pleasant table with its wax-lights and 
flowers, its fragrant coffee, its delicious oysters and crisp 
biscuits. Laura had never seen the fair-haired artist be- 
fore to-day. She remembered having heard the name 
from Kildee^s lips. She felt almost sure that this was 


kildee; oe, the sphinx of the bed house. 379 

Max who had been the child friend and protector. She 
would not ask. She would not cloud the sunshine of the 
hour by speaking of the lost girl, whose name always 
brought a shadow to Heathclitf^s brow. She looked con- 
stantly at David. IJis face puzzled her; it stirred a recol- 
lection of another face. Could it ber But no; it was 
absurd to fancy it. Presently he caught her regarding 
him with that puzzled expression. He smiled. 

You look at me as though you expected me to turn 
into somebody else/^ he said. Do I remind you of some 
one?^^ 

“ Yes/^ she said, hesitatingly; but — 

“Of a poor daft fiddler nicknamed St. Peter, for in- 
stance?'’^ 

“It is St. Peter you remind me of,^^ she cried; “'but 
surely — 

Surely I am he.^^ 

“ How can it be?^^ 

“ I am simply shaven and shorn, clothed and in my 
right mind,^^ David said. “ At least partly in my right 
mind. There are dreamy lapses yet sometimes. I seem 
drifting back to that semi-conscious state, and recall my-’ 
self with an etfort.'’^ 

“ Do you remember nothing of what happened in that 
time?^^ Heathcliff asked. 

“ I have a dim recollection of some incidents — I seem to 
have seen them as a panorama on a stage when I was half 
asleep. I have a kind of picture of little Kildee the first 
time I ever saw her when she drew the street boys away 
from tormenting me by her dancing. I can see her strik- 
ing her tambourine and whirling about, and hear her say, 

‘ Give my uncle his fiddle and his pet or you shall have no 
more dances.'’ Then I have a more distinct recollection of 
the fire that awful night when she was rescued from the 
burning house. I was miserable thinking her dead till I 
saw her open her ej^es in the carriage.'” 


380 kildee; or^ the sphikx of the red house. 

Laura looked at Max. Was David still daft? 

“ Does he not know?^^ she asked low. Have you not 
told him that she — she was not rescued?^ ^ 

‘\Oh!’’ cried Max, joyously; ‘Mt is you two who do not 
know. I have reserved a piece of good news for our 
desert. Kildee is not dead. She did not perish in the 
miming tenement house. Carleon saved her. It was an- 
other girl — a poor outcast, who lost her life.^^ 

“Kildee alive! Kildee not burned cried Laura. 
Heathcliff did not speak; his look, his white parted lips 
showed his speechless emotion. “ What became of her? 
Where did she go?^^ Mrs. Montcalm asked breathlessly. 

“ She went away with us — with Lottie and me. We left 
that morning early and joined the troupe at their next 
stopping-place. 

“ It was the day she was to have been married, mur- 
mured Laura, looking at Heathcliff. He spoke with an 
effort. 

“ I see how it was,^^ he said. “ The poor child did not 
wish to marry me. She could not bring herself to say so 
— and—^" 

“Forgive her,^^ interposed Max. “She honored and 
esteemed you. She was deeply sensible of your kindness, 
and said it was a poor return to marry you. She thought 
herself no fit mate for you. She feared your kindness — 
she called it pity — had misled you when you chose her as a 
bride. She always, thought so humbly of herself, for all 
she has a certain proud self-respect. 

“ And she loved youf Heathcliff* said, looking steadily 
at Max. 

He colored all over his fair face. 

“ She was my ward — my pet/' he said. “ I found her, 
you know, when I was a boy, and helped to raise her. I 
have loved her aJways.^^ 

“ And she has married you?^*' asked Laura. 

“So, no. We are not married yet. Indeed, I was 


kildee; ok^ the sphihx oe the red house. 381 

afraid until quite lately that she did not love me — only as 
a brother. She was strangely sad and reserved after we 
went away from here. Always she was sweet-tempered 
and thoughtful of others; that is her nature^ but I missed 
her merry ways. I fancied sbie had some hidden regret, 
perhaps that she had gone with us, till she assured me that 
this was not so. St. Peter, I beg his pardon, David was 
sick, and we stopped with him — Kildee, Mrs. Duck and I. 
The other members of the troupe were obliged to leave us; 
they had to keep their engagements. We had stopped at 
a little way-side town — a little quaint hotel, but the people 
were so kind-hearted. Kildee was a faithful nurse. She 
had soon two patients on her hands. Mrs. -Duck was taken 
with fever. We nursed them both. Dear little girl. 
What do you think she did in the intervals of that sick- 
bed night-and-day tendance? Our finances were very low, 
and she gave lessons in lace-work and embroidery to a class 
that some ladies had gotten up for her. I tried to give 
drawing lessons, but I had only three pupils. At last I got 
a remittance from my aunt in Minnesota; and just as 
things began to look bright, with both patients able to be 
up, our little nurse succumbed to the overwork and anx- 
iety/^ 

And she is ill?’^ asked Heathcliff, quickly. 

She has been ill — a short, sharp attack. She is better 
now — nearly well. Kildee is strong for all her fragile 
looks; and she has a heroes resolution. She is the 
pluckiest little one I know of. We left her in kind hands, 
and we are going back to-morrow — at least, I am. She 
urged us to come as soon as David was able to travel. We 
were sure his testimony would be sufficient, we could not 
guess the further good luck of being able to produce Mrs. 
Gonzalis.-’^ 

Strange, David said to Heathcliff, that you did not 
think of her before as the doer of that deed.^^ 

I did think of her,’^ he answered. I told my sus- 


382 kildee; oe, the sphihx of the eed house. 

picions to Laura counsel, and he brought it forward in 
his speech to the jury, but we had no proof. She could 
not even be summoned, for I did not know where she was. 
I had lost sight of her, until last night a woman came to 
me, ^saying Mrs. Gonzalis was ill, dying of consumption at 
her house, on the outskirts of the town, and that she needed 
assistance. I gave the woman some money. To-day when 
Collier sent for me at the hotel, and I heard your story, I 
immediately went to see Mrs. Gonzalis and told her we 
had proof that she commited the deed another was being 
tried for, but that her confession was needed to give’ that 
other a full acquittal. She consented to be brought before 
the court more readily that I had hoped. She knew that 
she had but a little while to live, and she was very remorse- 
ful. After all, she had only acted in self-defense. 

He saw his sister grow pale, and hastened to dismiss a 
gloomy subject. 

‘ ^ You were telling us of Kildee, he said. Go on. Y ou 
could not tell about any one we are more interested in. 
You said you were afraid until lately that she did not care 
for you except as a brother. I suppose you are now con- 
vinced.^^ 

Yes, Max answered, blushing, and looking happy. 

It was this way — if you will not think me foolish to talk 
of such sentimental matters. I had lifted her from the 
bed and set her in a wide arm-chair, and knelt down to 
adjust her foot-stool properly. She laid her little hand on 
my head in her pretty, caressing way, and said, ‘ Good 
boy, dear Max."" Am I dear to jon, petite f 1 asked, 
' tell me truly. ' Why, of course you are, you doubting 
Thomas,’ she answered smiling. But I was intensely 
serious. I said: 'If 1 am dear to you, why will you not 
marry me, Kildee.^ I love you so dearly; I have loved you 
so long. Something might part you from me again, and I 
should be miserable! Will you not be my very own?^ I was 
still on my knees before her, and I held lier hand and 


KILDEE; OK;, THE SPHIKX OF THE RED HOUSE. 383 

looked at her. I am afraid tears were in my eyes. She 
said nothing for a minute, then she bent down and kissed 
me on the brow. ^ Yes, I will marry you,^ she said, ‘ if 
you wish me to so very much, dear Max,^ So that was our 
engagement. Dear old Mother Duck, as we call her, woke 
up from her nap in her easy-chair and gave us her bless- 
ing/^ 

lieathcliff did not speak,' nor did Laura. She looked 
grave, even sad. At length the mayor said : 

She is a good girl, a dear girl. I am sure she loves 
you, and will make you happy. Will you not bring her 
here and let her be married at my house?^^ 

I will bring her here; she must be married here, but 
not at your house, I think. My friends, I have another 
secret for you — a wonderful secret. 

Concerning Kildee?^^ 

^^Yes — concerning Kildee — the secret of her parentage. 
She will be married at her father ^s house, under her right- 
ful name — though that father does not yet know. Do 
you remember a paper that you affixed your name to — you 
and Miss Montcalm on the night of the fire? It was a 
statement — a confession written by a woman, Nell Barnes, 
who died that night. Her body was half consumed by the 
fire.^^ 

And the paper was also burned 

No, it was saved. Kildee thrust it in her bosom and 
forgot it. Lottie found it when she undressed the little 
one that night and put it in her trunk. A few days ago 
she sent it to us. I have it in my pocket. You shall read 
it aloud to us."*^ 

We will go into the sitting-room then. I have ordered 
a wood fire to be kindled there. It is a little chill, and the 
resinous pine wood will make us feel cheerful. 

He led the way to the sitting-room; and the others fol- 
lowed, all but Laura. When his guests were seated by the 
ruddy pine fire, he came back to see why his sister did not 


384 kildee; oe^ the sphikx of the eed house. 

join them. He found her looking out at the gray twilight 
landscape^ and when he laid his hand on her shoulder and 
drew her around, he saw tears in her eyes. 

You promised no more to look mournfully into the 
past. It is ungrateful after to-day^s deliverance/^ he 
said. 

‘‘ I was not thinking of my past, nor of myself. 

Of whom then?^^ 

I was thinking of little Kildee.^^ 

^^And why think mournfully of her? She is happy. 
She has had the courage to take her fate in her own hands 
— she took advantage of circumstances and escaped from 
marriage with a man she could not care for to the arms of 
one she loved. What matter that she left hearts to ache 
at her supposed death? A woman 'does not think of others 
when she is happy with the one beloved. 

You think so of Kildee?^^ 

I love Kildee. I do not blame her that she could not 
care for me as a husband and that she saved herself from 
a union with me, but — 

You think she acted selfishly. She did not. Kildee 
could not be selfish. Her act was one of noble self-denial. 
She loved you; to be your wife, to minister always to your 
happiness, was her sweetest dream, and yet she went away. 
It was for your sake; it was that you might be happy with 
the woman you loved. She always feared that you did not 
love her; she knew it that night of the fire when you saved 
Honor Montcalm. She knew she stood in the way of the 
reunion of you and Honor — that but for her you would be 
reunited. She knew you would marry her because you had 
given your word, and you thought it your duty. It was too 
late for her to withdraw; it was her wedding-day, and to 
withdraw would cause reports hurtful to you. She saw it 
announced that she was dead, and she determined to seem 
dead that the man she loved and was grateful to might be 
happy/" 


kildee; or, the sphinx op the red house. 385 

Laura, how do you know this — how do you know the 
ehild cared for me?^^ 

know by my woman^s intuition. Do you think I 
could live, day after day, near that ingenuous little heart, 
having it beat against mine in the night, and with the tell- 
tale face before me in the day, and not know her 
secrefcs?^^ 

You make me very unhappy. 

I did not mean to tell you. You surprised me into 
betraying my thoughts. And I could not have you believe 
Kildee to be selfish and basely deceptive. 

What is to be done?^'’ 

Nothing. She is promised to Max; she will marry 
him. You are bound to Honor Montcalm — the only wonl- 
an you love; you will marry her and be happy. 

^ ^^AndKildeer^ 

She will not be miserable. She is too sensible, too 
affectionate, and Max is too kind. Perhaps she will have 
a child. A childis God^s compensation to a wife^s unsatis- 
fied heart-. Kildee^s destiny will be a very common one. 
How many women marry their ideals — the men they have 
loved best, or thought they could love best? And after 
all, it may be better that they do not. It is better for a 
woman not to marry the man she loves with her whole 
soul. It is giving him too much power over her. It is 
putting her life into his hands — a harp to break, to make 
music of or discord as he pleases. No, it is not happiest 
for a woman to marry the man she loves best. He alone 
can have power to wreck her life — as mine — 

Her voice trembled and broke on the last words. 
Heathcliff knew how deeply she felt what she so passion- 
ately spoke of. He took her in his arms and kissed her 
tenderly. 

Let us go and see how cheerfully the first fire of the 
season sparkles,’^ he said. 

And read that mysterious paper. I am impatient to 


386 kildee; or^ the sphijstx of the red house. 

hear the secret of Kildee^s birth. I am sure the blood in 
her veins is from no ignoble source. 

Heathclifl^s brow clouded at the mention of Kildee 
name. Could Laura have read rightly? Had she loved 
him and left him because she loved him so well? As he 
looked back^ a hundi^ed little things told him yes. 


CHAPTEE LI. 

Hazard Hall walked moodily under the mellow 
autumn sunshine. His vision of the future was clouded. 
His mercurial spirits had not their wonted spring. 

I need a glass of Montcalm sherry/^ he thought, but 
1^11 hot go to the generaPs house. I^m not in a mood to 
hear Heathcliff ^s praises, and it would madden me to see 
the look of joy and triumph in Honoris eyes. 

Even as the thought came to him, he caught sight of the 
Montcalm horses turning the street corner. There was 
no one in the carriage but the generaL When he saw 
Hazard he signaled the driver to stop and called to him. 

Get in, my boy,^"" he said. Come, go with me. I 
have had a strange summons. 

In what direction ?^^ asked Hazard-, as he obeyed his 
patron ^s request and took the seat opposite him. 

Hearing Avenue. 

“ A dilapidated, poverty-stricken quarter; who can want 
you there?'’^ 

The woman who made that confession in the court 
yesterday — the woman who ruined my brother's life be- 
fore she cut it short. She is dying, the message runs. 
She has something of the utmost importance to say to me.^^ 

Hazard changed countenance. He said hastily: 

This is a private family matter. I ought not to in- 
trude — 

‘‘ HonT speak of family in connection with that worn- 


kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 387 

an/ interrupted the general. She is nothing in com- 
mon with my family. As for privacy, her only connection 
with the Montcalm name (through a wretched hofi^h faux 
pas of my poor brother) was made public enough yester- 
day. 

Perhaps she only wishes to ask your forgiveness — 

Then she may spare her breath. I can never forgive 
her. I hoped never to see her face again,, but the message 
was imperative, and it was bagked by a request from 
Heathcliff that 1 would grant a dying woman^s wish. 

Heathcliff ejaculated Hazard, and his sensitive face 
became more clouded. He had a sudden vision of the day 
he had charged Heathcliff with knowing who his parents 
•were. The ma}^ had not denied that he did know. A 
cold fear weighed on him. Presently, he said, in a voice 
he strove to make natural and careless. 

The woman said something in her confession yester- 
day about a child. She may wish to commend it to your 
care. 

Why should she?^^ , 

For the sake of its blood — your brother's — 

The general smiled scornfully. 

What assurance would I have that the child was my 
brother’s? Even if it were, I would have nothing to do 
with it. It was her blood — the blood of a low Mexican 
adventuress, who was unfaithful to my brother and 
hounded him to his death. I would not touch a creature 
that called her mother.” 

Hazard was silent; he spoke no more save to answer in 
monosyllables. They drove on under the yellow hazy 
October light. They left the busy and fashionable streets 
of the city and entered the decayed quarter known as Old 
Town. The current of business and fashion which had 
once flowed here had left it long ago. Undrained 
marshes poisoned the air with dampness and misama. 
The houses were, old-fashioned, discolored, dilapidated. 


388 kildee; oe^ the sphinx of the bed house. 

The roofs were moss-grown^ the walls weather-stained. 
About some of them the neglected shrubbery (planted 
long ago) grew rankly. Their brilliant blossoms were in 
strange contrast with the faded old houses. Before one of 
these decayed buildings the carriage stopped. It was the 
same house in which Oarleon had held that fateful inter- 
view with Mrs. Gonzalis six months before. In the same 
lofty dim old room whose faded carpet she had then paced 
with tragic step, she lay now on an old-fashioned draped 
and canopied bed that looked like a hearse. As General 
Montcalm entered she turned her gleaming dilated eyes 
upon him. He fairly started as he met their look. They 
seemed to have a separate existence — to be two intense 
souls, dumbly appealing, defying, palpitating with pain. • 

Hazard had entered behind General Montcalm. He saw 
the white face lying upon the purple draped, hearse-like 
bed, he saw the half-appealing, half -defying eyes, and drew 
back. An instant after, he entered unnoticed and took 
ujj his position in the deep-casemented window, screened 
by the faded purple curtains. 

Beside the bed sat HeathclifP and Max Eubin. On its 
foot sat the woman who had been Zulieme^s hostess before 
— some friend, perhaps, of long ago — an olive-skinned, 
wrinkled face with hard eyes that yet softened when they 
rested upon the face on the pillow. Leaning against the 
mantel-piece was the black-robed gaunt figure of the priest, 
who had just confessed Zulieme and administered the 
sacrament. With his colorless, close-shaven face, his ton- 
sured head and motionless limbs, he looked like a figure of 
stone. 

General Montcalm bared his proud head and bent it in 
the presence of the Death that, surely looked out from that 
woman ^s wan face and unearthly eyes. 

She regarded him fixedly an instant. An expression of 
intense pain filled her eyes. The brothers had been great- 
ly alike in features. 


kildee; or^ the sphikx of the red house. 380 

you know why I have sent for you?^^ she asked 
presently. 

‘^Ido not.^^ 

Suppose I was to ask you to forgive me before I 
died.?^^ 

He was silent awhile; then he said coldly: 

Ask forgiveness of God.'’^ 

You mean that you would not forgive. That is hard. 
Yet you will own I had provocation, more — 

The general made a gesture of haughty impatience. 

We will not speak of your provocation, as you are 
pleased to call it. My brother is dead — slain in his prime 
by your hand. You hounded him through his days. You 
were false to him. He was a noble boy; be might have 
had a noble life; you ruined it. I will not speak of him 
to you. Is there anything else you have to talk of? Can 
I do anything for you?^^ 

Nothing/^ she answered, with a bitter smile. You 
are late in asking. Once you might have helped me — 
might have saved me much suffering and — sin. I wrote 
to you again and again, imploring you to tell me where my 
child was, where his father was. You did not notice my 
letters. 

I did not want my brother tormented by a — Pardon 
me. I do not want to say painful and useless things to 
you in your condition. This interview is wholly unneces- 
sary. If there is nothing I can do for you^ I will go/’ 

Stop!’^ she cried. She partly raised herself from the 
pillows, her breath came in convulsive throes. She fell 
back and said feebly to the woman who bent near her: 
Give me my medicine — a treble portion. 

That will be too stimulating, dearie, the nurse re- 
monstrated. 

It does not matter. There is only a spark of life in 
me. Let it flame up and go out.^^ 

The stimulant was given her. She drank it, and lay 


390 kildee; oe, the sphinx of the eed house. 

quiet a moment, then she turned her eyes upon General 
Montcalm, and beckoned him to her command by the gest- 
ure of a fallen queen. 

This was not what I sent for you to say. I did not 
send for you to ask forgiveness of you. It would avail me 
nothing. I sent to confess another, perhaps a greater 
wrong that I have done you. 

What can you mean?^^ 

You have two daughters. General Montcalm.'’^ 

I have but one, madame — the other perished almost in 
babyhood. 

Drowned by springing from the nurse^s arms into the 
swift stream that flows from Wonolla Springs 
^^Yes.^^ 

^^And she was your favorite child. The nurse had 
brought her to the train to say good-bye to you. You 
were going as far as New York with your brother, who was 
on his way back to Europe. He paid you a hurried visit 
— shortened because you learned through your spies that a 
woman was hunting him. In New York a summons came 
to you by telegraph: your child was drowned, your wife 
prostrated with grief. The body was not found. You 
took your wife to Europe by advice of her physicians. 

What do you mean? Why do you bring up these de- 
tails? 

To make you feel what I shall tell you is true. I 
arrived in W^onolla one minute before the train on which 
you and your brother had taken passage left the station. 
I did not see you; you were already in the car. I saw 
your brother standing on the steps of the car in the act of 
giving back to the nurse a beautiful child he had just 
kissed. Before I could get to him the train moved away. 
I had heard he was in America, and I had tracked him 
here. I was hunting him to make him tell me what he 
had done with my child. I did not know that you also 
were in Wonolla — so far from home. I resolved to follow 


kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 391 

Captain Montcalm to New York. An express train left 
in an hour. I would go in that. I had heard that he had 
married in Europe — a false report. ^ This, then, is his 
child,^ I thought, ^tenderly cared for and caressed; whife 
my child — his as well — where was it? In some foundling 
house or orphan asylum, neglected, starved, beaten.'' My 
brain was wild with the pain I had suffered, the drug I had 
swallowed as a nepenthe. I followed the nurse and found 
her standing on the bridge. 

^ Whose child is this?^ I asked. 

^ Mrs. Montcalm^s,^ she answered sullenly. 

^ Was it her father v/ho was kissing it good-bye at the 
trian?^ 

“ ^ Yes," answered the woman. Her eyes were red, her 
face scowling. I questioned her and found she was bitter 
against the Montcalms. She was related to them, and she 
thought she should be treated as an equal — not as a serv- 
ant. She was anxious to get money that she might leave 
them and hunt up a lover whom she thought they had 
separated her from. The idea flashed into my half-crazed 
brain to bribe the girl to give me the child and j)re tend 
that it had sprung from her arms and been drowned. I 
acted upon it. She held out till she saw the gold, and 
tlien she half consented. I snatched the child, wrapped it 
in my cloak, and hurried to the train which was then start- 
ing. I will go with it to New York, I said, leave it with a 
woman there while I find Captain Montcalm. I will say 
to him, ‘ I have your child — your petted darling. Give me 
back my child and you shall have yours; refuse, and I will 
never tell you where she is — not if you kill me or imprison 
me. I am desperate. I do not care. She shall be raised 
in poverty and shame!" 

I did not carry out my programme. An accident hap- 
pened to the train. I was bruised and my arm broken. 
The child was not hurt. Before I had quite recovered I 
knew I had been in error— that it was General and not 


392 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

Captain Montcalm^s child I had taken. I would have re- 
stored her, but you had sailed for Europe. I had no 
money to follow, and I had a horror of the ocean. I kept 
the little one. I was not always kind to her. She had the 
Montcalm face, and in some dark moods I could have 
crushed her for the look there was in her eyes. But I did 
not mean to leave her to starve in a garret in St. Louis. 
I was trying to work honestly for my bread. I fell in the 
street from overheating, fatigue and weakness — brought 
on by poor food. I was taken to the hospital. I had a 
long period of illness — a longer period of mental derange- 
ment.^^ 

She stopped, her voice had sunk to a whisper. 

Leaning toward her, the general had drunk in her story. 
When she paused, he said: 

And the child starved in the garret 

No; that young man standing there found her, and 
took care of her, until some of his friends adopted 
her.^^ 

Were they — were they honest people, madamer^^ 

As honest as you or your daughter. General Mont- 
calm. They raised her honestly — so honestly that when I 
found her and claimed her and would (God forgive me) 
have helped to do her a wrong, her own purity saved 
her. ^ 

The last words were hardly audible. 

Where is she — speak, woman, I command — I entreat 
you!^^ he cried seizing her arm. He thought her dying or 
dead. Her lids were closed and her wlhte lips parted. 

Where is she?^^ he demanded, turning to Max. 

Zulieme revived. She waved her delicate hand at Max 
to stay his answer. 

Let me first give you proof of my story,^^ she said. 
“ There is a small chain around my neck; Inez, unfasten 
it.’^ 

The dark woman with the hard, bead- black eyes rose, un- 


kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red house. 393 

did the clasp of the slender chain and took it from Zulie- 
me^s neck. As she lifted it and General Montcalm caught 
sight of the cross-shaped locket of gold and jet that dangled 
from it^ he stretched out his hand eagerly. He touched a 
springs and a lid in the center of the cross flew open, show- 
ing the miniature face of a stately old lady. 

My mother ^s face/^ said the general. My child had 
this around her neck when she was drowned. We never 
found the body; we supposed the whirling current had 
carried it off or swept it under the rocks. Some one else 
may have found the body, and this chain may have 
been — 

Pardon me for interrupting you, general, said Max, 
stepping forward and holding out a folded paper. Here is 
a confession of the nurse — Nell Barnes — witnessed, as you 
see, by Ira Heathcliff and Honor Montcalm. Tour daugh- 
ter has doubtless told you of this paper. It was not 
burned, as supposed, but it was safely preserved. 

General Montcalm unfolded the paper with a shaking 
hand.. He ran his eye rapidly over it — his expression of 
doubt gave place to one of assurance. He looked up and 
said huskily: 

The child — where is she — she was my darling — her 
mother^s heart was broken at her loss. And you! woman, 
God may forgive you, I never will. Young man, she says 
you. took care of my child. Does she still live? Where 
is she?^^ 

She was called Kildee — a pet name — she knew no other; 
she was with your daughter in the room with Nell Barnes 
when the woman died, and when the fire occurred. 

And was left in the burning house and perished. 
Great God! I remember! My daughter was strongly 
drawn to that girl — she grieved over her horrible death. 
And she was her sister — my own little Kuth. Why did 
you resurrect this crime? Why did you tell me my child 
lived, only to add that she died before I knew her?^^ 


394 kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 

Be calm, general,'’^ said Heathcliff. Your daughter 
did not perish in the flames. It was another who was 
burned. It was she whom Carleon rescued. She did not 
want to marry me; and so she went away with her foster 
sister. She is not very far off and will come to you soon. 
You will And her as true and pure as though she had been 
reared in . your own honiie, side by 'side with her sister 
Honor. 

The general dropped into a chair and bent his face upon 
his hands. When he raised his head, his eyes were moist 
and shining. He got up and shook hands warmly with 
Max. 

It seems I owe you unspeakable thanks, my friend. I 
must know you better,*^ he said. 

Then he turned and saw Hazard still sitting in the win- 
dow, half screened by the faded purple drapery. The boy 
was very pale. More than once he had been on the point 
of stealing out of the room, but a strange attraction 
chained him to his seat, and turned his eyes persistently to 
the white face upon the pillow. 

And yet she had not seen him. 

General Montcalm broke into an excited, happy laugh, 
and cried out to Hazard: 

Hall, do hear this wonderful story! Is it true or am 
I dreaming? Tell me!^^ He seized Hazard by the arm 
and drew him from the window. Was ever anything 
more wonderful? I have two daughters — my little Eutii 
was not drowned — she was not burned. She is alive; I 
shall see her. W^'hat is the matter? You look miserable. 
You must be happy. Do you not congratulate me?^^ 

With all my heart, general. 

At the sound of his. voice, a spasm passed over the death- 
like face on the pillow; her eyes flashed open — wildly, 
eagerly. They fell upon Hazard, and a great light of love 
and longing leaped into them. 

‘‘ My boy, my son, my darling she cried; you did 


kildee; oe^ the sphikx of the bed house. 395 

come to me! You did come to see me die. God bless you! 
I— 

She stopped; the look upon. Hazard^s face choked the 
words in her throat— a look^ dark with scorn^ loathing, 
fury. Her arms, that she had stretched out to him, 
dropped at her side. 

Forgive me, she said faintly. I did not mean to 
speak — the sight of you was so sudden. I meant never to 
tell — never to let the world know. But it is done now. 
Oh! for pity’s sake do not look at me so! Come to me, 
my child !^^ 

^‘You are delirious, crazy !^^ exclaimed Hazard, white 
with anger. I am no child of yours. 

Her eyes flashed as a flame leaps up from wan ashes. 

You are my son,’^ she cried. I have nursed you at 
this bosom. I have mourned for you, prayed for you, 
sought you everywhere. I caught this last sickness follow- 
ing after you in the night. I have watched your bed un- 
known when you were sick. There stands a man who 
knows you are my son. For my sake, he traced you out 
and found you at the monastery. Afterward you ran away 
from the Catholic school; he saw you here and knew you. 
He has your letters written to the father superior, asking 
him to tell you of your parentage. The priest sent them 
to him. Heathclifl would not tell you who your parents 
were. He did not want to shame you — to spoil your 
career. I ought not ta have spoken. I meant to have 
died and made no sign. But I saw you; 1 longed to hear 
you call me mother. Oh, my son, do not deny me! It is 
too hard, too cruel to disown a dying mother, though she 
be — what Fate has made me. General Montcalm, you 
can not turn against my boy, for he is of your own blood 
— the Montcalm blood. 

Hazard ^s eyes, half proud, half imploring, sought the 
general’s face. He stood (after the first start of surprise) 
listening to this unexpected revelation with stern, unmov- 


396 kildee; the svnmx of the red house. 

iiig features. Now a look of cold scorn came into his 
face. 

The Montcalm blood, with the bar sinister!’^ he said. 
Do you imagine I would recognize it, even were it proved 
the Montcalm blood? which it is not. There is no trace 
of it there ’’ (turning his cold eyes on Hazard). ‘‘ It is 
your face; why did I not see it before 

He is your brother's son — I swear it!^^ 

He is the son of a child-stealer, a man-slayer — a — V’ 
^^Hush!^^ she said, sharply, holding forth her clasped 
imploring hands. Do not say it. He scorns, he hates 
me now; it is enough. But it is no fault of his that he is 
my son; and the world will never know. He is gifted; he 
is ambitious; you are his patron. Do not cast him out of 
your favor. < 

“ If he can deny you, if he can prove that — 

Stop!^^ cried Hazard. His face was white and drawn, 
but the manhood in him had awakened. I forbid you to 
sting her with another word. I will not deny her. Moth- 
er he knelt at the bedside; you are my mother! I feel 
it. I felt it when you first spoke to me that dark night in 
the streets. Mother, he bowed his head over her and 
pressed his lips to hers, live that I may take care of you — 
that I may love you,^^ he said, raising his head a little that 
he might see her face. 

A wonderful light transfig.ured that face. For an in- 
stant it glowed in more that its youthful loveliness. She 
lifted her arms and clasped the neck of her boy. She tried 
to speak, her lips parted and a smile of unutterable joy and 
tenderness played about them; then she drew him down to 
her and held him to her heart. In the stillness was heard 
her quick, sobbing breath— once, twice, then all was silent. 
Hazard felt her arms relax. Softly he unclasped them and 
looked at her face. 

She is deadF^ he said. He kissed the still smiling 
lips, and bowed his head upon her pillow. 


kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 397 


CHAPTER LIL 

A DARK night in November; the stars obscured, a mist 
of cold rain chilling the atmosphere. But the lights of the 
city gleam out, and there is a continuous roll of carriages 
in the street below the dimly lighted room in which Hazard 
Hall sits alone. He hears the roll of the carriages; he pict- 
ures to himself the curveting horses, the fair forms upon 
the velvet cushions inside. He hears them stop before the 
Sharon House which is a blaze of gas, for it is the evening 
of the Inauguration Ball. General Montcalm was installed 
Governor of the State two days before; to-night the wealth, 
the intellect and beauty of Wallport are assembled in the 
grand ball-room of the Sharon House to do honor to the 
new chief of state. 

The boy who sits alone in his dingy, ill-furnished, almost 
garret room above a row of shops, sinks his head on his 
hands and remembers how he had once imagined the scene 
of to-night. A month ago, when he was working for Mont- 
calm^s election — scribbling, stump-speaking, lying unscru- 
pulously, he would lie at night unable to sleep, though it 
was usually past midnight, because of the feverish throb- 
bing of his ambitious brain, and picture to himself that 
scene of prospective triumph — his patron^s inauguration as 
governor and the ball that would follow it. He had seen 
himself moving through the lighted room at the side of the 
governor — triumphant, envied, the incumbent of an office 
of honor. He had seen himself leading off the dance with 
Honor Montcalm — queen of the night by right of her regal 
beauty and her proud position. 

One month ago this picture had seemed a shadow of what 
might well be. And now! He raised his head and looked 
about him, then across at the glittering windows of the 
ball-room. He had no part in that gay scene. No one 


398 kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 

would ask after him, no one would miss him. He sat here 
at the uncurtained window with the mist of rain drifting 
in on his haggard face. His clothes were rusty, his hair 
disordered, his cheeks hollow, his eyes dull and hopeless. 
Was this the bright, elastic, self-confident boy, who had 
called himself an exponent of the Nineteenth Century spirit 
of shrewdness and push and wide-awake tact; who had be- 
lieved in himself and in his power to compass his ends by 
dint of boldness and brains? 

One month ago he had been pointed out as the brilliant 
young journalist, the dashing boy speaker, the pet of the 
probable governor, the attendant, perhaps the favored 
suitor, of Honor Montcalm. And now — what a swift suc- 
cession of misfortunes had brought him low. He had lost 
the prestige of being Montcalm^’s pet. The story of his 
illegitimate origin had somehow gone abroad, and in that 
proud old city this alone was equivalent to social ostracism. 
Then The Eattler ^^went down. It had been foredoomed 
to a meteoric course. Launched with borrowed capital and 
much brains, but little ballast of system or practical knowl- 
edge, it (like so many party journalistic crafts) had just 
enough financial steam to fight through one stirring polit- 
ical campaign. One of its brilliant young editorial staff 
had gone to his neglected law, another had run oil from his 
debtors, another had found a place on the old slow but sure 
daily which “ The Eattler had been wont to ridicule as 
^^the moss-backed terrapin.'’^ But Hazard had not ob- 
tained any place. With all his quick, versatile talent he 
was known to be not a steady worker. He was too erratic 
to suit these old systematic stagers. And he had been too 
stinging in his satire against them. The light shafts he 
had sent had been too keenly barbed. Besides, he was no 
longer a popular favorite. His extreme course against 
Heathclifi had reacted against him, and his own haughty, 
capricious manners made him enemies. He shut himself 
up and wrote earnestly and hopefully. He wrote an article 


kildee; oe, the sphikx of the eed house. 399 

for a review — it was declined; a sketch for a magazine 
— it was returned; a spicy article for a New York daily 
— it came back with the comment: Pretty fair, but 
not suitable for our columns. Then he lost belief in 
his capacity. He had thought himself a genius; it was 
evident he was not above mediocrity. He found it impossi- 
ble to obtain employment in his own line — he tried to get 
it in some other. But he did not succeed. To his sensi- 
tive, sore spirit it seemed that every door was barred. He 
became utterly desperate. He took to drinking. His 
habits had never been steady; but he had not before drank 
to excess. Now he took to it as a nepenthe for the mortifi- 
cation, the shame, the misery that had come so crushingly 
in the hour when he seemed on the high-road to success. 
He drank, and the subtle poison made him lose his remain- 
ing energy and the power that was still in him to rise above 
the fate. 

Why did he not leave Wallport? For one thing, he had 
no money. The fall of The Eattler found him with 
no means, and a number of little debts hanging over him. 
He jiarted with his books, his pictures and liis watch. He 
left his boarding-house and hid himself in the dingy half 
attic several stories above a shoe-shop, whence he only 
emerged at night. Where were his friends in the mean- 
time? He had made few genuine friends. He was too care- 
less, selfish and imperious. Some who came forward, he 
repulsed coldly; he read pity in their eyes, and he was too 
proud to accept pity. He haughtily, almost rudely, reject- 
ed General Montcalm^s offers of help. The icy words with 
which the head of the old Montcalm line had rejected any 
personal intercourse with the basely born scion had so stung 
the proud soul of the spoiled boy that he would have starved 
rather than take a favor from the hands of his former 
patron. One day he received a letter addressed in General 
Montcalm^s handwriting. His pale cheek fiushed; he tore 
open the envelope; out dropped a check for five hundred 


400 kildee; oe^ the sphihx of the eed house. 

dollars and a card on which was written, ‘‘ Do not refuse 
the inclosed; it is simply in discharge of a debf ^ 

He smiled bitterly. 

He would not invite me to his house; he would not 
shake hands with me in the street; does he think I would 
take his money he said, as he crushed the card in his 
fingers. 

He thrust the check into an envelope, addressed it to 
Oeneral Montcalm and dropped it into the mail-box. 

Heathclifi^s overtures met with no better success. The 
may or ^s heart was full of pity for the boy. He went to see 
him one night at his boarding-house. He offered to assist 
him in any way he might; he assured him of the sincerity 
of his motives, but the imbittered boy would not believe 
him. He answered coldly that he was no beggar for money 
or for friendship; all he asked was to be left alone. Soon 
after this he quit his boarding-house and left no word as to 
where he had gone. As he was never seen on the streets in 
the day, it was supposed by the few who thought about 
him at all, that he had left Wallport. His den of 
refuge was in the heart of the city. He shunned compan- 
ionship, but the rattle and roar of the streets, the scream 
and hiss of the locomotive that came up to him took away 
the sense of utter solitude. By day, he sat and brooded 
over his wrongs, or tried to forget them in drink. He 
could no longer afford wine; he resorted to the coarser 
stimulant — whisky. At night he slouched liis hat over his 
face and went out to walk the streets aimlessly, that he 
might tire himself and be able to sleep. He scurried on 
like a haunted thing, looking out from under his slouched 
hat — out at the windows of houses in which he had once 
been a welcome visitor — at Montcalm ^s study where he had 
sat planning political schemes with the general, at the 
opera-house, where he had sat beside Honor Montcalm. 

Every day his clothes grew rustier, his face more hag- 
gard, his energies weaker, his prospects more hopeless. 


kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red house. 401 

One meal a day came to him from a second-rate eating- 
house which he had once scorned to patronize^ for this boy 
was dainty to fastidiousness in his food and clothes. But 
his means were now exhausted. He had spent his last 
dime to-day, to buy the stimulant which had become neces- 
sary to bolster his relaxed nerves. He took out the little 
blue and gold purse which Lottie had made and sent him 
on his last birthday. Nobody but little Lottie kept count 
of his birthdays. The recollection of her came over him 
to-night with a flitting pang of tender regret — a passing 
thought of seeking her. Por she was in the city. He had 
seen the flaming bills on the walls announcing that the 
troupe to which she was attached Avould play in Wallport 
to-night. He had read the newspaper praises of the ‘‘ ris- 
ing young actress. Eising was what he had been 
called little more than a month ago. And now/^ he said 
to himself, with a harsh laugh, now I bid fair to ^ rise ^ 
in the world at a ropers end. I am the dog going down- 
hill, which everybody feels, in duty bound, to kick.-’^ 

No, he would not go to see Lottie. The last time he 
had seen her he had patronized her in his airy, prince 
manner. She had felt it too. She had been no little hurt, 
and she retorted in one of her flashes of piquant anger; her 
blue eyes raining and lightening at the same time. It was 
natural she should feel a little malicious triumph at his 
coming down. But Lottie^s heart was tender as a child^s. 
She would pity him, and pity from her he could not beai\ 
He would not subject himself to it. He would not go to 
see her. 

Go to see her, indeed! He laughed self -scornfully at the 
thought as he glanced at his reflection in the little cracked 
mirror on the mantel-piece. 

I look like a tramp or a jail-bird,^ ^ he said to himself. 
His cheeks were sunken, his eyes blood-shot. His nerves 
were unstrung; his hands trembled. He felt flaccid and 
miserable. 


402 kildee; ob, the sphinx oe the bed house. 

I must have a drink/'’ he said, and he took up the lit- 
tle purse. He turned it wrong-side out. A tiny coin fell 
into his hand. He knew what it was, though he had for- 
gotten it was there. It was a little gold dollar — one of 
three (he had given two to a child) which the purse con- 
tained when it came to him. 

These are for seed,^^ Lottie wrote, and for good luck. 
Mind you donT lose them or spend them, unless to bring 
good to somebody, else you^l lose your luck.’^ 

Lose my luck,^^ he repeated sardonically. He turned 
to the window, for the band had begun to play in the ball- 
room across the street. What a glorious, merry burst! 
One end of the long ball-room faced this street. The large 
glowing windows were nearly opposite where he sat. He 
could see figures crossing the light spaces — magnificently 
dressed women and distinguished- looking men. Many 
famous beauties and noted men will grace Governor Mont- 
calm'’ s inauguration ball. 

What happy faces! Ah! there are two young men he 
knows well. And there is Vaughn, now upon the “ Times,'’'’ 
formerly one of his confreres in the poor dead Battler.-’^ 
Would he himself were dead. He had wished this often of 
late. He has done more than wish. With that reckless 
disgust of life which strangely enough assails the young 
more than the old, in time of trouble, he has thought of 
death as a refuge. He has planned to take his own life. 
But how? His keenly sensitive nerves shrink from the 
thought of pain, his imagination recoils from the vision of 
death and the grave. He tries to think of some way to 
die painlessly. Concentrated prussic acid? Yes, that kills 
with the swiftness of lightning, but how to obtain it.^ No 
druggist will sell such deadly poison. A shot through the 
brain or the breast? But what if his trembling hand sent 
the leaden messenger through a part not vital? People had 
lived with bails in their lungs — lived to suft'er through long 
years. People had lived with bullets imbedded in their 


kildee; or^ ti^e sphikx of the red house. 403 

brains — lived to be idiots or paralytics — fate worse than 
death. ' 

To open a vein and bleed to deaths they had told him^ 
was almost painless^ but he could imagine the sickening 
horror of watching your own life-blood flow out in a great 
crimson jet. Then the faintness — the numbness seizing 
the limbs, the body, the heart. If one might inhale an 
anaesthetic the instant the vein was opened, and be insensi- 
ble to the gush of one^s red life, the sickness, and numbness! 

Penknife and chloroform — these would do the death busi- 
ness painlessly. The ghastly thought flashed into his 
fevered brain as he sprung to his feet, maddened by the 
merry music — the brilliant scene painted on the darkness of 
the night, in which his own gay, insouciant set moved 
happy, and heedless of his misery. 

He must have a drink. 

There was Lottie ^s little gold dollar. He had it clinched 
in his palm. It was for “ luck,^^ she had said. Well, luck 
was gone forever. The charm had not worked — let the talis- 
man go. He crushed his hat over his eyes and went out 
into the street. He would not enter one of the glittering 
fashionable (!) liquor shops; he might meet some one who 
knew liim. He hurried down the sidewalk and turned into 
another street. Here, he presently entered a dingy bar- 
room, before the door of which a negro was playing Zip 
Coon on a cracked fiddle. He got his flask filled, and 
threw the coin on the counter. The blear-eyed bar-keeper 
picked it up and held it to the smoky lamp. 

HainH you got a more convenient sort o^ money about 
you, young man?^^ he asked. I donT like to take these 
gold scraps; donH know whether they^re passin^ now, and 
theyh'e mighty onhandy. 

‘‘ I have no other money, he said shortly. 

“Jack, you^re takin’ the kid^s seed-corn,^^ sung out a 
half -drunken sot, who lay on the counter smoking a foul 

pipe. “ Ain^t yer ashamed 
7— 2d haUU 


404 kildee; or, the sphinx oe the red house. 

I kin stand it, if he kin,^^ was the answer, followed by 
a burst of coarse laughter. 

Hazard picked up his change and escaped from the reek- 
ing den. He was sick with self-loathing. He felt degrad- 
ed; he was wounded in all the finer instincts that remained 
to him, but he felt no spring of hope that would help him 
to rise. He could not rise here, and he had neither money 
nor energy to get away. He had lost the belief in himself 
— all his proud, airy self-assurance. He had lost hope, 
friends, everything but life; and of what account was life? 
How useless and cowardly to cling to life when it was a 
hateful burden. He would cling to it no longer. 

He had still a half-dollar left of Lottie^s little coin. He 
had thought to buy bread with it to stay the craving for 
food, for he had had no dinner. But dead people do not 
need to eat. He would buy chloroform instead — he had 
the penknife in his pocket. The red and gold globes in 
the vv'indow of a druggist^ s shop caught his eye. He went 
in and asked for fifty cents’ worth of chloroform. While 
the clerk waited upon him, a carriage stopped at the door 
— a little water-proofed figure alighted and entered the 
shop. She walked to the opposite counter. Hazard paid 
no attention to her, but as he was hurrying out, she spoke 
to the clerk only to say he need not trouble himself to wrap 
up the French powder she had just bought, as she would 
drop the box in her reticule, but the silvery voice struck a 
chord of remembrance. It was Lottie’s voice. He invol- 
untarily stopped and uttered an exclamation. She turned, 
and knew him in spite of the slouched hat. She was about 
to speak his name, but he rushed out of the shop. She 
turned to the clerk: 

That is a former acquaintance of mine,” she said. 
‘‘ Do you know where he is stopping?” 

‘‘ I do not,” the clerk answered. I thought he had 
left the city.” 

It was not the first time she had made , inquiries about 


kildee; oe^ the spiiikx of the bed house. 405 

her old friend and boy^sweetheart. Ten minutes after her 
arrival (at noon) in Wallport, she had asked about him of 
a mutual acquaintance. The answer gave her a pang. 

He is fast going to the dogs. 

She had seen Kildee but a few minutest The Montcalm 
carriage came to the hotel for her, and she drove to the 
mansion and went straight to the room of the governor's 
newly found daughter. 

It is our same Kildee/’ she said, as she hugged and 
kissed the little one. Then she put her back a little, as she 
had done once before on meeting her, and studied the girTs 
face. 

You are a queer little sprite. Fll never quite make 
you out,^'’ she said when they had talked together awhile. 
She knew Kildee too well to fancy she would have her head 
turned by her unexpected good fortune, but she had 
thought to find her more elated. Kildee spoke with proud 
affection of her father and her beautiful stately sister, but 
there was no joyous enthusiasm in her manner. 

Young as she is, it would be natural for her to be in a 
white glow of enthusiasm, thought Lottie. And her 
approaching marriage with Max, she spoke of it so quietly, 
almost without a blush. But then Kildee always was an 
odd little thing, mused Lottie. She is not a ‘bit fiut- 
tered by the prospect of the big ball to-night — her first ball, 
and she the governor's new-found daughter — the heroine of 
the night, and lovely as any stray Peri. 

Kildee was on the point of dressing for the ball. Her 
simple, perfect dress of cloud-like white tulle lay on the 
bed, and Honor had been curling her pretty hair. She 
showed Lottie her father ^s gift of pearls, because she knew 
the little actress took delight in looking at such things. 

But Lottie did not forget what had been uppermost in 
her mind when she drove to the mansion. 

“ Tell me about Hazard,’^ she said. Then, for the first 
time during the interview, Kildee showed deep feeling. 


406 kildee; or^ the sphinx of the red house. 

I can not tell you how sorry I am for him/^ she said. 
‘‘We are forbidden here to mention his name. My father 
loved him so much, he can not bear to remember that 
he— 

“Was unfortunate in the matter of birth/ ^ spoke up 
spunky Lottie. “ A nice thing to desert a boy about who 
has ruined himself trying to serve him. 

“ Hush, dear. You don't know the strong, deep-rooted 
prejudices of people who belong to these old proud fami- 
lies. And then poor Hazard's mother killed my father’s 
brother, who was brother and son in one to him; and she 
was — an outcast." 

“ Could he help it?" cried Lottie. 

“No, and it does not seem just that he should suffer for 
it, but one can not mend such things. I could not help 
writing him a little letter, just a few friendly words— I 
dared not tell my father. He never answered it. He sent 
back the check my father inclosed to him." 

“ Good for him; I'm glad he did," cried Lottie, her eyes 
sparkling through the tears. “ But you say he has left the 
city?" 

“ I heard so, but my sister's maid is sure she saw him on 
the street one night this week. " 

“ If he's here I'll find him if it's possible," cried Lottie. 
“ I wouldn't turn on my heel to ask about him if he were 
prosperous, but now that he's down and his pretended 
friends have dropped off from him, it's the right time for 
a true friend to come in and give him the warm hand of 
sympathy, if no more. " 

This interview had taken place not two hours ago. Lot- 
tie had thought about Hazard persistently ever since. She 
was now on her way to the theater (she was not to appear 
in the first scene), and she had stopped at the drug-store to 
get a particular kind of French powder she fancied she 
would need in making up to look ghastly in a death scene. 
Standing at the counter she heard Hazard's exclamation. 


kildee; or, the sphinx oe the ked house. 407 

turned quickly and had a glimpse of his haggard face. She 
hurried out to the sidewalk and saw him crossing the street. 

Lefc the hack wait here a minute; come with me/^ she 
said to her brother, who was waiting to. hand her into the 
carriage. 

He was accustomed to her little imperious commands and 
caprices. He only said: Didn^t you find what you want- 
ed here?""^ and she replied by taking his arm and drawing 
him in the direction in which she saw Hazard going. Keep- 
ing him in sight, she flew on, making her boy-brother 
grumble at her rapid pace. She had just stepped upon 
the sidewalk that ran along the Sharon House, when she 
saw Hazard stop before a flight of steps that led up from 
the street. He paused an instant as though it were not a 
pleasant thing to go up into that dreary unlighted region, 
and then began to ascend the steps. 

He lives somewhere up there; Vll find him to-morrow 
before we go away, Lottie said to her brother. It’s 
Hazard Hall Fm talking about. He was in the drug-store, 
and I wanted to find out where he is staying; nobody could 
tell me. He^s under the weather here, poor boy, and he^s 
lost his position. Vll ask papa to give him Jack Gilbert's 
place in the troupe. Hazard is long way a better actor 
than Jack. Papa trained him, you know, and I think I 
can get him to join us. I’ll try to-morrow. 

Would there come a to-morrow for Hazard Hall? He 
went up to his dreary room. The light from the gleaming 
windows opposite streamed into it, and lighted up its bar- 
renness. The music was louder than before. The rain 
had ceased, the night had grown warmer, and the windows 
of the ball-room were open. Hazard could plainly see the 
fair faces and richly dressed forms of women, with their 
escorts, pass by the lighted vistas. He went to the mantel- 
piece and took down an opera-glass (too much worn to find 
a purchaser) and seated himself at the window. With the 
lorgnette to his eye, he drew close to him the figures of the 


408 kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 

promenaders. Presently his fingers closed spasmodically 
on the glass. Honor Montcalm had flashed upon his sight. 
How beautiful, how radiant! Pearls and soft laces, and 
white jasmine flowers enhanced her fairness. She walked 
beside Heathclifl*. He, too, looked happy and handsome. 
They were soon to be married, rumor said. There would 
be a double wedding at the mansion. The governor's 
newly found young daughter, with the romantic history 
and the lovely face, would marry the artist who had saved 
her from starving in a rat-haunted garret. He was no 
match for her now, but the governor was grateful and in- 
dulgent, and the girl was promised to the artist before her 
father found her. 

Hazard ^s face darkened yet more as the broad-shouldered, 
military form of the governor came in sight. He had his 
new daughter (Euth, they called her) on his arm; he was 
looking down with proud fondness into the sweet upturned 
face, with the dark curls clustering about the white, low 
brow. On the governor's left arm, leaned the beautiful 
woman whom Hazard had so nearly brought to the scaffold. 
She wore black velvet. Her arms, her throat, her brow, 
with its crown of dark-gold hair, were marble white. There 
was a shade of sadness on her face. A white flower fell 
from ner breast. Some one from behind picked it up and 
gave it to her. She turned and smiled on him— an odd- 
looking man, with white hair and rugged face, magnetic 
from the earnest, almost weird power of a pair of wonder- 
ful, lustrous eyes. Evidently she gave him permission to 
keep the flowei’, for he bowed, and looked confused, but 
happy. When she passed he came to the window, and, 
standing there, pressed the flower to his lips. 

Hazard knew him. It was the man whose sudden 
emergence from the death in life of idiocy, through the 
magic of science, had lost liim (Hazard) the seven thou- 
sand dollars reward, and had saved Laura Montcalm from 
the gallows, or a life dong prison. He had been her foster- 


KILDEE; OB;, THE SPHINX OF THE BED HOUSE. 409 

brother^ her friend and guardian; he had loved her long 
and silently: would he speak now? She had proved his 
loyal heart; she had learned through bitter suffering that 
a true and loving heart is a better guarantee for married 
happiness than splendid gifts of mind and person. 

They are all happy/^ thought the boy, who watched 
the panorama of bright faces with hollow, hungry eyes, 
feeling as though he gazed upon Paradise from the depths 
of Purgatory. There is love and happiness and hope for 
them all — for every being in the wide world but me. For 
me there is nothing. Not one human being cares whether 
I live or die. 

Once more he raised the opera-glass to his eyes. It fell 
from his shaking hand. Honor Montcalm stood at the 
window alone, looking out on the clouded night. The 
proud sweet beauty he had wildly dreamed to win — the 
goddess shape he had encircled with his arms in a waltz of 
Weberns — the very same that was beginning now. That 
lovely hand holding back the purple curtain, how often it 
had been upon his arm. And now what a gulf yawned be- 
tween them! She stood there just across the street. They 
were all there to do honor to the man — her father — whom 
he had worked with all his bright, ingenious wit to put in 
office. They were all there, happy, and he was here pen- 
niless, starving, miserable. Curses on a life that was the 
prey of such unjust Fate! it was not worth clinging to. 

He caught up the flask from the table and drank half 
its contents. He looked down at the little knife and the 
bottle of chloroform. He took up the knife, opened one of 
the small, delicate blades and passed his finger across its 
keen edge. He bared his arm and held it down to the dull 
lamp, looking hard at the blue throbbing vein just beneath 
the delicate skin. 

It is but one little stroke,^^ he , said; a quick slash, 
and no more.^^ He took a linen towel (he would have gone 
without salt in his bread rather than use a towel of cotton) 


410 kildee; ok^ the sphihx of the red house. 

and rolled it funnel- wise; he opened the bottle of chloro- 
form, but instead of pouring the subtle fluid into the towel 
funnel, he threw both on the table beside the knife, and, 
turning away, began to walk up and down his carpetless 
room. He had fully determined to end the feYer called 
living this very night. But on the instant he raised the 
vial containing the pain-destroying anaesthetic, the doubt 
had darted across his mind — what if death is not surely the 
end of life? The doubt had never seriously presented itself 
till that moment. He was a born unreligionist. The 
organ of reverence was wanting in his handsome head — it 
was as flat on top (save for the graceful rings of dark hair) 
as the head of a panther of the jungle, or a rattlesnake of 
the wilds. Then he was thoroughly imbued by reading 
and association with the materialistic spirit of the age — the 
spirit that looks with cold scorn upon the idea of immortal- 
ity as a superstitious dream for which Nature furnishes 
not the slightest material — Nature which has never sent a 
glimmer of light beyond the black wall of death, which 
teaches that after life there is but decay and disorganiza- 
tion; no immortality except in life transmitted through 
offspring. He had held that religious systems were delu- 
sive ropes of sand spun in the world^s dim ages by schem- 
ing priests for the sake of temporal power, and clung to by 
the wishes, fears, and vain conceit of weak mortals, who 
can not believe that they are born to die forever. He had 
often written wild verses after Swinburne, thanking 

All gods that be 
That no life lives for ever, 

That dead men rise up never, 

That even the weariest river, 

Winds some time safe to sea.” 

He had quoted Byron — Men, miserable as they are, 
cling so to anything like existence that they will hug the 
merest dream to their hearts, and prefer even damnation to 
external quiet. The insects 


kildee; ok^ the sphikx oe the ked house. 411 

But as lie walked the echoing floor of his room to-night^ 
there came into his almost maddened brain a feeling that 
all this was false. An instinct, imbedded in his conscious- 
ness, above reason, beyond Nature, made him feel that 
when he should draw the steel across the artery and see his 
life ebb away, when he should fall on the floor in its red 
pool — dead — this would not be the end. Pulse and breath 
would go, but something would stay — something would still 
be — something that was himself. The feeling came from 
no instilled impression — he had a strong sense of this— mo; 
it lay back of all teaching — it came from somewhere beyond 
reason or induction or education- — it was woven in his being. 

It troubled him. If this was not the end — what was 
there to come? If there was another life, what was it like? 
He was too wild to think coherently; he was too frenzied 
to fear the doubt that had risen up like a warning ghost on 
the edge of that grave he was about to dig for himself. 

This will lay the ghost, he cried, and drained the last 
drop of fiery liquid from the flask. 

They were still playing a waltz for the merry dancers, 
but its measure had changed. It was now fast and furious. 
Though still sweet — so maddeningly sweet! How the 
dancers spun to its wild measure — whirling like brilliant 
blossoms in the mad maelstrom of melody. He too would 
whirl. It should be his dance of death. Bound and round 
he spun till brain and strength gave way, and he sunk upon 
a chair. His eyes blazed wildly. He seized the bottle of 
chloroform and dashed its contents into the linen funnel. 

“Now to solve the mighty j^roblem — now to dare the 
leap in the dark,^^ he cried. “ Whatever be beyond it, it 
can not be worse than what I leave. 

He flung his bared arm across the table, and drew the 
keen knife-blade across the pulsing artery. A red Jet leaped 
high. He shuddered and buried his face in the drug- 
steeped linen. In an instant he was insensible. 


41)^ kildee; or, the sphikx oe the red house. 


CHAPTER LIII. 

Notwithstanding the grand Inauguration Ball, the 
theater was moderately full. Lottie was late in making 
her appearance. The manager frowned as she tripped up 
the greenroom stairs, but she smiled back at him in her 
half -saucy, half -deprecating way, as she opened the envelop- 
ing water-proof and showed herself ready dressed for the 
second act, on which the curtain was about to rise. She 
went through her part with her usual grace and cleverness, 
but in the last scene she had a strange experience. She 
had one of those unaccountable impressions, visions — ^warn- 
ings — call it what you may — that, though out of nature, 
are yet not of uncommon occurrence, and form the best 
proof of the existence of a soul, independent of the mate- 
rial organization. 

In the play Lottie had to recline on a sofa, in pretended 
death, while the villain of the piece enters and goes through 
a scene of remorse. The lights were low, the orchestra 
was playing soft, sad music; Lottie lay listening to the 
actor's impassioned soliloquy. Suddenly his voice seemed 
to die away— her sense of her present surroundings van- 
ished; Hazard's face rose before her, ghastly, with a des- 
perate expression upon it. He seemed seated at a table in 
a dim, low room, his hand clinched something, she could 
not tell what, but it impressed her as something with which 
to take his life. That look of desperate resolve, the hag- 
gard despair in his eyes, the clinched hand! — the conviction 
was lightning-like — he is about to commit suicide. 

So vivid was the vision, so strong the conviction, that she 
came near screaming aloud. It was gone in a breath, but 
the impression remained. She could not shake it off. 

The scene was over; it was the last of the play; she went 
at once to her brother. 


KILDEE; OE, THE SPHIHX OF THE EED HOUSE. 413 

Fred/ ^ she said, ‘^did you hear what it was Hazard 
asked for at the drug-store? 

Yes, I did; it was chloroform/^ 

She drew her breath sharply. 

‘‘That settles it, she said. “He^s up to some mis- 
chief, and I am going to him — right now, and you are 
going with me. 

“ Lottie, are you crazy?^^ 

“ Not a bit. I am as sound as a Mexican dollar. All 
the same, I am going to hunt up Hazard—I had a most 
vivid warning about him just now — and you are going with 
me, or ni never tie your neck-ribbon, or call you a darling 
Duck while I live. Come right on. 

“ YouTl wait for the governor and the old lady?^^ 

“ No; I havenT time even to tell them.'^^ 

She hurried him down-stairs and into a waiting hack. 

“ This will all turn out a humbug, and won^t I laugh at 
you!^^ grumbled the boy. 

“ ITl give you leave to laugh. May be it will all turn 
out a humbug. I hope it will, but I never saw anything 
plainer in my life than that warning vision, and I sha^nT 
be able to sleep to-night till I know it^s all right with Haz- 
ard. My! it^s raining again — such a chilly mist I 

She shivered and drew her dark wrap about her bare 
arms. She had not taken time to change her stage dress. 

“ Gather up my things, please, ma^am,^^ she had said to* 
the good Mother Duck as she flitted past her. “ Fve got 
to go in ail awful hurry. 1^11 tell you about it later. 

“ Drive fast,^^ she said to the hackman, slipping an 
extra half dollar in his hand. 

In two minutes she was set down at the foot of the stairs 
that went up over the shop. The street was still filled with 
music from the Sharon House where the ball was at its 
height. Lottie ran up the narrow dark stairs ahead of her 
brother. Somebody on the street had told Fred that the 
rooms on the second floor were all lawyers^ offices, and the 


414 kildee; ok, the sphinx of the bed house. 

young man must be lodging on the floor above. The land- 
ing of the first stairs was lighted only by the street gas- 
lamp, but she made her way to the next flight of steps. 
When she reached the head of these, she found the narrow 
passage in darkness. A dim light, however, came from 
beneath one of the doors that opened on the passage. Lot- 
tie knocked sharply on the door. She put her head to the 
aperture, and a strong odor of chloroform came to her. 

Force it open,^^ she said to her brother. Don^t you 
smell the chloroform? Something is wrong. There is 
only a latch fastening the door, I fancy. Shove against it 
with all your might. ITl help.’^ 

The door pelded to their strength. The slender iron 
latch snapped, the door flew suddenly open, and they found 
themselves confronted by a ghastly scene — a man seated at 
a table, his face buried in a blood-stained cloth — blood 
gushing from his arm, a pool of blood on the floor. 

Fred uttered an exclamation of horror, and stood trans- 
fixed. Lottie made no outcry. She went swiftly to the 
man^s side and raised his unconscious head from the drug- 
saturated towel. 

/^IFs Hazard; he still lives, I hope, she said, as she 
snatched a silk handkerchief from her neck and bound it 
tightly around his arm just above the wound. Then she 
knelt by him and pressed her finger upon the lacerated 
Vein. 

Throw open a window, and run for a doctor,^^ she said 
to Fred. 

He obeyed her at once. He was gone fully fifteen min- 
utes; it seemed as many hours to the girl. She knelt there 
in a pool of blood, pressing her finger upon the cut vein, 
her eyes fixed on the death-like face that had dropioed back 
on the table. Its pallor contrasted sharply with the blood 
splotches upon it. Blood! blood everywhere! Lottie^s 
heart sunk as she saw it. Could he live after losing so 
much of the life fluid? Oh! why did not the surgeon come? 


KILDEE; OK^ THE SPHIHX OF THE RED HOUSE. 415 

As she watched the white face she saw a quiver come over 
it. Suddenly the eyes opened^ and looked at her — wildly — 
then with dim recognition. He lifted his head, but it 
dropped again — dropped against her shoulder. She put 
one arm around him softly. She was afraid to move lest it 
should jar the lacerated vein and set it bleeding anew. As 
she knelt supporting his sinking weight with her strong 
arm, she held her breath to feel if the heart so close to hers 
still beat. When she distinguished its feeble pulsing, tears 
of joy sprung to her eyes. 

And still the music played for the governor's ball, and 
the sound of the dancers^ feet came across to the dreary 
room. 

Twelve strokes clanged from the city clock. As the echo 
of the last one died away, Lottie heard the hollow sound of 
footsteps in the passage below. They began to ascend the 
stairs. 

It is Fred with the doctor —thank Heaven!’^ whispered 
Lottie. The next instant she heard Fredas voice, full of 
cheerful relief. 

“ Sis, you are here all right, are you? I felt bad to be 
away so long, but I had a time of it to get a doctor. 

She scarcely heard him. She was watching the doctor ^s 
face, as he raised the unconscious head from her shoulder, 
looked at the would-be suicide and felt the pulse in his 
wrist, then put his hand over Hazard ^s heart. 

Now I will relieve you,^"" he said to Lottie. Turn 
that vein over to me and get up, my child. You are a 
brave little girl. You did just what was needed. 

But — was it done in timer^^ Lottie faltered. 

Yes — oh, yes! He has lost a good deal of blood, he 
will be quite weak for a few days, but he will soon come 
around. 

Lottie wanted badly to cry, but she choked back the hys- 
terical inclination and gave her attention to helping Dr. 
Blye. The half-severed vein was soon skillfully united and 


416 kildee; ok, the sphihx of the ked house. 

bandaged. While this was being done Hazard recovered 
consciousness. He recognized the surgeon; he saw the 
blood, the bandaged arm, and comprehended that he had 
been saved from the consequences of his own desperate 
act. 

Why did you take this trouble, doctor?^ ^ he asked. 

It would have been much better to let me die."^^ 

Humph!^^ growled the old surgeon. That^s a grate- 
ful return for a man^s getting out of his bed to look after 
you such a night as this; a still poorer return for a nice 
young lady^s saving your life at the cost of a deuce of a 
cold and a pretty frock spoiled for good.-^^ 

A young lady! Did Honor — Oh, no; it could be 
none but Lottie. Did I dream it? or did I see her kneel- 
ing by me?^^ 

You didn^t dream it — luckily for you. She was kneel- 
ing by you, sure enough, in a puddle of blood, holding back 
the life you had done your foolish best to let out. As I 
said, her pretty gown is spoiled, and she is booked for a 
sore throat. 

Never mind the dress or the throat. Hazard, said 
Lottie, coming to the side of the bed to which they had 
helped the boy. “ I^m too glad to see you ahve to think 
of anything else. 

She was blushing and laughing through her tears. She 
put her hand into the one that was feebly stretched out to 
her and he carried it to his lips. 

Doctor, he is quite cold; ought he not to have a stimu- 
lant?’^ she asked. 

^‘I^m about to give him a little brandy. He ^s got too 
much of this sort of stimulant in his system already, how- 
ever. A bottle of hot water to his feet, a few mouthfuls of 
some light nourishment and a good sleep — that^s what he 
needs. 

Lottie, whirled about and took a hurried inventory of the 
room^s possibilities in the way of fire and food. Dame 


kildee; oe^ the sphihx of the bed house. 417 

Hubbard traditionary cupboard was hardly more bare of 
eatables. A can of condensed milk more than half empty, 
on a shelf, was all that she discovered. And it was past 
midnight and raining hard. She looked at the cold, rusty* 
little warming stove in the corner, and said to Fred: 

Make a fire, quick 

He looked all about him carefully, saw neither coal nor 
wood, and said: 

Show me how to make something out of nothing, and 
I will. 

Don^t make difiiculties, dear,^^ returned his sister. 

Here^s an old cigar-box and a blacking-brush and a polit- 
ical pamphlet — what better do you want to start with? — 
and I stumbled over a broken chair in the passage. 

Oh, fertile brain of woman, sighed Fred, preparing 
to break up the cigar-box. I suppose she is going to 
make soup out of a hair-pin. 

Lottie had found a large-sized empty tin can which she 
filled with water and set on the stove to boil as soon as the 
fire was kindled. Out of her pretty little satchel she took 
the half dozen Boston biscuits, wrapped in a white napkin, 
which she had meant to eat after the play with a glass of 
sherry contained in a little cut-glass bottle that had once 
held a heliotrope perfume. She would fill the can that 
held the remnant of condensed milk with hot water, give 
it a dash of sherry, pour it over the Boston biscuit and 
serve hot. It was the best she could do. 

Soon the vessel on the stove was bubbling. She filled an 
empty bottle she had found with the hot water and gave it 
to Fred to put to her patient ^s feet, while she prepared 
the toast. When she brought it to his bed, steaming, she 
saw his eyes kindle, and she felt, with a pang, that he must 
have been suffering for lack of food. He eat with a relish 
it did her good to see; then he lay back on the pillow; she 
covered him as well as she could; the hot bottle at his feet 
was comforting; and in a few minutes he was asleep. 


418 KILDEE; OEj THE SPHIHX OF THE EED HOUSE. 

Lottie sat and watched by him. The doctor said good- 
night; Fred fell asleep in his chair; the music of the ball 
ceased; the rattle of vehicles in the muddy street and the 
dull monotone of the rain were the only sounds from with- 
out. Lottie sat and looked yearningly at the face on the 
pillow. 

Poor white^ haggard face/^ thought the girl. How 
he must have suffered! Did that Montcalm woman break 
his heart, I wonder. Proud minx! He is good enough 
for her or any other lady in the land — ^handsome, bright 
fellow that he is. * I hate her for treating him so. It^s 
just as though she had treated Fred or Charlie badly. I 
care for Hazard almost as I do for one of our boys. 

She knew in her heart that she cared more for him than 
for her brothers, fond as she was of them. She knew she 
loved the boy she watched so tenderly through this long 
night with that half -passionate, half- maternal tenderness 
and pity which a woman can feel for a man she does not 
wholly respect — a strong yearning impulse which some- 
times saves its object and sometimes wreck the woman! 

The sun was shining into the uncurtained room when 
Hazard opened his eyes upon the face of his little nurse. 
They were alone. Lottie had waked Fred and sent him 
on a variety of errands. First, to let Papa and Mamma 
Duck know what had become of their missing duckling. 
They were, no doubt, uneasy; but then they had confidence 
in Lottie and in her capability to take care of herself. 
Then, Fred was to order a delicious breakfast — coffee, 
oysters, eggs and broiled chicken — to be sent to Hazard^s 
room; also, a good nurse and a servant to clean up; lastly, 
a carriage to take Lottie back to the Marshall House, where 
she would undress, drink a hot sanger, cuddle up in bed 
and be as fresh for the matinee as though she had not 
watched all night over a would-be suicide and had her 
little heart torn with pity for him. 

When he opened his eyes and saw her pale, thoughtful 


kildee; or, the sphinx of the red house. 419 

little face (ready, though, to smile on him the instant their 
looks met), he said remorsefully: 

Oh, Lottie, you here still! You have not slept at all. 
What a wretch I am to subject you to all this! I am not 
worth it, Lottie. I don^t deserve anything. 

Very likely. How many of us do deserve anything? 
But now let me bathe your face; your breakfast will be 
here soon. 

What an angel of goodness and charity you are! It^s 
just charitable pity makes you come to look after me, 
Hazard said with a twinge of his old proud repugnance to 
pity. 

Of course it is. I am such a famous Lady Samaritan. 
Now, sir, you know it^s not pity or charity that makes me 
come to look after you. It^s just a motherly solicitude. 
It^s a maternal weakness to care for wayward children. 

^^But you don^t know how bad it is with me, Lottie. 
I am at the foot of the ladder. I can never rise any more. 
I have lost everything — friends, and place, and reputation, 
hope and talent, if I ever had any talent, which is doubtful. 

You are an ungrateful boy to say so. You know you 
have got talent — ^yes, genius. Don^t shake your head, 
papa says so, and you^ll not deny that he is a good judge. 
You'^ve got genius, and genius can always rise; if not rise 
in one way, then in another. As for your fall to the bot- 
tom of the ladder; why, it will do you good. You had 
mounted too fast; your head was giddy. The fall will 
bring you back to your good senses. It will shake the 
self-conceit out of you, and bring the manliness to the sur- 
face. Oh, it^s all right. ^ Never can rise again — hope all 
gone!^ DoriT let me hear such whining from you any 
more. Go back to your early teachings, sir. DonT 

shame the curly headed boy that used to spout from Festus, 
' House thee, Heart ! 

Bow of my life, thou yet art full of spring, 

Thy quiver yet hath many purposes.’ ” 


420 kildee; oe^ the sphii^x op the bed house. 

Lottie jumped up^ threw out her pretty^ bare, jeweled 
arnr from the Mother Hubbard-looking wrap, and gave the 
lines in capital imitation of Hazard^s boyish oratory. 

He was obliged to smile, but the next moment, he said, 
drearily: 

It"s all well enough in theory, but Fd just like to 
know ‘how it is possible for me to rise without any lever of 
lucre or energy. I^'ve gone now and drained myself of 
what little strength I had. What am I to do? No, 
Lottie, you ought to have let me complete last night^s 
business. 

1^11 give you a trial. If you disappoint me, why then 
you can make another attempt at your last night^s per- 
formance. What are you to do? Why, in the first place, 
you are to lie right here and get back your strength 
through good food and good nursing. You shall have 
both, and you are not to worry yourself about the how of 
the matter. 

Which means I am to content myself with letting a 
woman pay for it out of her earnings. 1^11 not do it; I^’ll 
be hanged if — 

Hush, if you please. Just wait. I am not going to 
give you anything out of my pocket. It^s just an advance 
on your pay as second leading man in our troupe. That 
place is vacant, and papa wants you to fill it. He always 
said you were a born actor — and could beat Booth if you 
would. So you are to join us in a week. Youfil be all 
right by that time. And now not another word. Be quiet 
and rest until your breakfast comes. 

He obeyed, thanking her with a look and a kiss upon 
her little hand. He held the hand to his lips and lay 
silent. He was undergoing a transition. He saw, as in a 
dream, all his adventurous hopes go down in eternal ship- 
wreck — his aspirations for literary fame, for political distinc- 
tion, for wealth, Honoris joroud face — all disappearing — 
gone— all but one httle faithful hand to which he clung. 


kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 421 

one love that had been his through all slights and coldness 
and change. Could he choose but love her? He had 
sworn once he would love her always. Had he ever really 
changed? He opened his beautiful, sorrowful eyes, and 
fastened them on the little actress. 

Lottie, there^s one chance for me. I can rise if I have 
one thing to hold to — you, Lottie, will you love me and 
take me, unworthy as I am, and help me to make a man 
of myself?’^ 

She leaned over and kissed his lips. 

I accept the trust,^^ she said. 

She remained an instant leaning over him, looking at 
him with her tender, yearning, tear-filled eyes. • Then her 
quick ear caught the sound of footsteps. She stood up and 
dashed the drops from her brown lashes. 

Here comes your breakfast, she cried cheerily. 


CHAPTEE LIV. 

A BLEAK bitter day in December; the sky leaden-dark 
overhead, the earth white in its shroud of snow. It is the 
tenth anniversary of Kildee^s wedding, and she is passing 
it traveling across the snowy prairies of the North-west, in 
a railway train whose engine plunges panting and labor- 
ing through the heaped snow-drifts, while the engineer eyes 
the lowering sky, and mutters to the fireman that more 
snow is close at hand, and that the ‘‘ devil will be to pay.^^ 
Inside the car, where Kildee sits, it is comfortable enough. 
The great stove midway the car glows red with heat; Kil- 
dee, tired of watching the monotonous expanse of snow 
outside, sings softly to the little child she holds in her 
arms, and lets her thoughts go back to the past. 

Ten years since she became the bride of Max on the same 
starry December evening that her stately sister Honor gave 
her hand to Ira Heathcliff. The years have brought 


422 KILDEE; OR, THE SPHIHX OF THE RED HOUSE. 

changes. Governor Montcalm is dead. Heathcliff and 
Honor and their three lovely children occupy the ancestral 
home of the Montcalms. Heathcliff is now governor of 
the state, elected for a second term to that office. 

The Eed House is no longer gloomy. The only spirits 
that haunt it are two mischief-loving sprites who play 
tricks upon old Caleb as he sits nodding under the mag- 
nolias. The golden-tressed girl and the dark-haired boy 
are the children of David Holt and Laura. 

Hazard Hall and Lottie are still itinerant mimes. She 
is as charming and merry as ever, and believes as fully in 
the genius of her handsome husband. He has not yet de- 
veloped into a Booth, but he is a fascinating actor, if not 
a finished artist. He is exceedingly popular, and young 
girls pronounce him glorious, divine, and write notes 
to beg his autograph. He boasts of his conquests some- 
times, and teases his little wife until he makes the angry 
flash lighten through her tears; then he desists, and kisses 
the tears away. 

I can’t help their loving me,^^ he says, ^^and I can^t 
help encouraging it — Just a little; but you ought to know I 
love you and you only, Lottie. " 

He is Hazard Hall still. 

The world says Kildee^s marriage has been unfortunate. 
Max has made neither money nor fame. He set up his 
studio in New York — a little gem of a studio — for Govern- 
or Montcalm had bestowed a liberal check as his wedding- 
gift; but Max had not the steady application necessary to 
succeed where genius is wanting. He had no genuine love 
for his art; no deeply glowing aspirations to improve, to 
keep pace with the progressive thought and methods of 
the day. He had an easy-going sweet nature, a delicate 
taste in landscape painting and a repugnance to hard 
work. He was liked in society, caressed at liis club, affec- 
tionate and lovable in his home. He was fond and proud 
of Kildee and she devoted herself to making him happy. 


KILDEE; OIl^ THE SPHIHX OF THE EED HOUSE. 423 

Was she happy herself? Did he satisfy her heart? Only 
one who knew her best, who watched her most anxiously, 
knew that she was not a happy wife. She fulfilled her 
wifely duties conscientiously. She was gentle and cheer- 
ful — sometimes merry; but the wistful look in her lovely 
eyes had deepened almost painfully. It told the story of 
a heart alone, in spite of intimate companionship, a soul 
that had not found its supplement. Kildee had her fa- 
therms brow and eyes and her motherms nature. For all her 
delicate fineness there was a strong fiber in her that re- 
sponded to the heroic. It was in her to understand and 
sympathize with great deeds; yes, to suggest and inspire 
such deeds by her elevated, fervid, emotional power and 
her strong pure imagination. It was this sympathy with 
the heroic that made her admire HeathclifE. She had not 
loved him so much as she had been moved by that com- 
manding elevated chord in his character, which found an 
echo in her own nature. 

She was hardly seventeen when she married Max. She 
knew she did not love him as she could love, but she was 
too young and untaught to feel the deep moral necessity 
that there should be perfect love between two beings whose 
lives are to be united by the close bond of marriage. She 
cared greatly for Max, She owed so much to him. He 
had been so kind as a guardian, so devoted as a lover, that 
she could not bear to hurt him by refusing to be his wife. 
But she had not given her consent until after she knew 
she was Governor Montcalm^s daughter. When he had 
pressed her to marry him in the little town where they had 
stopped with the sick St. Peter, she had begged for time 
to think it over, and before the time allotted had gone by 
there came a letter from Lottie with the paper containing 
Nell Barnesms story. Max read it aloud to her as soon as 
the candles could be lighted. In the midst of his joy for 
her, she saw his face cloud. He had suddenly remembered 
that there was now a wide gulf between them. 


424 kildee; ok^ the sphihx of the red house. 

He said, with a look of one who has received a stab : 

Now you will never think of poor Max/^ 

The girl^s generous soul could not bear that look. 

How can you think so of me?^^ she cried; and a mo- 
ment later she had promised to be his wife. 

Having made the promise, she abided by it. She was 
firm under her father^s representations, and unshaken by 
the brilliant prospect that had been opened to her. She 
married him; and he never knew that he did not perfectly 
fill her heart. A more spiritually sensitive nature might 
have felt the veil of uncongenialit}^ that separated their 
lives, but Max was not spiritually sensitive. His was a 
sweet, sensuous, shallow nature, made to ripple pleas- 
antly in the sunshine of easy fortune and social appre- 
ciation. 

She outgrew him. It was inevitable. Her nature was 
richer in possibilities for development. When she went to 
New York, she came in contact, by reading, and, more 
rarely, by personal association, with strong minds, and she 
took deeper intellectual and spiritual root. It was natural 
this should seek to flower in expression. She had never 
been ready to reveal her deeper thoughts and feelings in 
speech. She was shy, for all her child-like frankness. So 
the form of expression she chose was writing. She began 
to write poems, at first for her own eye, afterward she con- 
fided her secret to a friend — a warm-hearted and large- 
brained woman — connected with the New York press, and 
through this friend^s persuasions, the poems appeared in 
print, from time to time, under the pseudonym of Alfar 
Weir. They were always short — sonnets or lyrics, char- 
acterized by a delicate, yet sinewy imagination, a crystalliza- 
tion of thought, a glow of passionately pure feeling which 
laid hold upon a small but intellectual and appreciative 
class of readars. To some of these it became known that 
she was the author of the poems they admired, and so she 
made for herself a narrow but congenial circle of friends. 


kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red house. 425 

Into this circle Max often came with her in person, but did 
not truly belong to it. He had no affinity with it. 

Kildee^ s work and her associations satisfied the demands 
of her intellectual being, and her heart found an outlet in 
love for her child. It was a fragile little creature, with 
dark, asking eyes like its mother^ s. From the first, the 
tenderest care had been required to foster its delicate life. 
Kildee had given it that care. She was almost morbid in 
her devotion. She hung over the little one, day and night, 
till she became worn and pale, and seemed to be hourly 
giving a portion of her hfe to eke out the fragile existence 
of her child. Notwithstanding this untiring care, the little 
one faded. One day in April its life went out. The 
mother^s grief, though it was almost silent, was passion- 
ately deep. With the dropping off of this frail flower her 
life had borne, that life seemed to have lost all its sweet- 
ness. The temptation was strong to let go the bare, blos- 
somless bough and drop into the grave beside her child. 

Her friends rallied around her. One of them took her 
to hear a preacher whose talk, it was said, had the Christ- 
like power of giving comfort and strength. She had heard 
much of this preacher since she had been in New York. 
She had often wanted to hear him speak, for he was one 
she had known in years past. This eccentric speaker, bold 
writer and spiritual teacher, after the apostolic pattern, 
was no other than Miles Carleon. She had heard of him 
as 'strangely eloquent^ — with the eloquence of fervid zeal in 
his crusade against wrong, and of passionate pity and love 
for men. She had heard of the self-denying life he led — 
the severe asceticism of his habits, his devoted labors in 
prisons and penitentiaries and hospitals — among the poor, 
the sick, the sorrowing and sinful. In the cause of help- 
ing his fellow-beings to a happier and higher physical and 
moral life, he spared neither personal effort nor money. 
Not only had he given Aphrodite Island, with its costly 
buildings and improvements, as a home for orphans, but 


42G kildee; or, the sphihx of the red house. 

lie had established and endowed other charities. He had 
invested all his remaining fortune judiciously, and he was 
spending all the interest and portions of the principal in 
the work into which he had thrown his life. He was after 
the apostolic type. He sought neither fame nor money. 
He took no pay, he asked no favors, he courted no popu- 
lar applause, he belonged to no denomination. He owed 
no allegiance to any church. He fenced in his broad creed 
of faith and deeds by no bristling hedge of theological 
tenets. Therefore, he could be independent. He could 
be bold for truth, and strong for truth. And he was. He 
assailed ^n that sat in high places. He denounced wrong 
that cloaked itself under specious pretenses. He withered 
the masks of hypocrisy, the sheep ^s clothing of human 
wolves and foxes, with liis fiery satire. No St. John 
was he — rather a Paul of Tarsus. No Gabriel — rather a 
Michael with sword of fire. His voice of bold rebuke rang 
out against political crime; against gilded social debase- 
ment; against banded corporations — licensed robbers. 

The object of his denouncing writhed under his blows; 
shrunk at his unflinching exposure of their wrong-doing. 
He made enemies by the score. They decried him in the 
press. They called him a fanatic — a lunatic. Ministers 
assailed him in the pulpit as unorthodox and irregular. 
He heeded them not. He went on in his crusade against 
wrong. Persecution only whetted his sword. His trumpet 
rang out more defiantly for the charge. 

And yet he was the soul of love, of pity and tolerance. 
He had tender compassion for the weak and fallen, for he 
knew the strength of temptation. He had sounded the 
depths of sin and suffering. He was fitted to talk to 
criminals in prison and convict camps, and his work was 
often there. He was fitted to comfort and encourage the 
sorrowing, for he had drank of the bitter cup. 

It was to this man that Kildee^s friend took her in the 
dark days that followed the death of her child. She had 


KILDEE; OR^ THE SPHINX OF THE RED HOUSE. 427 

met him more than once since her coming to New York. 
There was a look in his eyes that thrilled that chord in her 
which responded sympathetically to the heroic. There was 
the look of one who had fought and had conquered. Look- 
ing back she recalled him • as she had known him. She 
saw him in the hght of his new developed character^ and 
she felt that she had been right, when she told him that last 
night at Aphrodite that he could be a power for good as 
he had been a power for evil. She had uttered the words 
through a kind of inspired impulse. They had proved 
prophetic. 

She knew all that he had renounced. She remembered 
his social accomplishments, his powers of fascination, the 
homage of his satellites, his fastidious, pleasure-loving nat- 
ure. Could she fail to remember how he had loved her? — 
how desperately he had sought to make amends for the 
wrong he had tried to do her? He had saved her life — at 
what fearful cost to himself she was reminded every time 
she saw him. That terrible crushing fall had left its trace. 
A slight lameness clung to him; a deep scar showed redly 
on his white temple. 

She went to hear him once and again; she caught the in- 
fection of his zeal. His eloquence took her out of herself. 
She was caught up in the fiery chariot of his impassioned 
love for his kind, his thirst to do them good, to win them 
to his side in the fight. 

He came to see her. His clear eyes read her secret. He 
knew that her heart was solitary. He had feared so from 
her poems. He alone felt the meaning of that under-tone 
of sadness there was in them. 

He said to her, You need work.^^ 

Give me some of your work,^^ she answered. And so 
he took her among those she could help — children starved 
in body and soul, women bowed with ill health and neg- 
lect, and the memory of past sins; miserable and forsaken 
ones to whom a word of kindness came as the sweetest sur- 


428 kildee; ok^ the sphinx of the red house. 

prise. She had a comprehending sympathy with such peo- 
ple; she was so patient, so simple, so kind, with no shadow 
of patronizing. She was so winningly helpful in small 
household ways of sick-bed attendance and care of children 
and preparing of food, that she did more good than she 
knew. He watched her little ways — child-like and winsome 
as of old, and yet with that unconscious dignity that had 
amused and charmed him then — he watched her, and he 
said to himself as he had said before, She is a pearl above 
price — and I lost her. 

They talked only about her work, about books and the 
new thoughts that were born in the brains of progressive 
men, and the schemes for the good of humanity that were 
fermenting in other minds beside his own. She looked up 
to him with loving reverence. Here was a hero worthy to 
bend the head before — such a hero as the age demanded. 
She would have deemed it sacrilege to remember, save as a 
past unmeaning dream, that this man who seemed en- 
throned above human weakness had once loved her. It 
was a mere flickering passion flame, she thought, long ago 
eclipsed in the white light of religious philosophy. She 
underrated her power of holding the heart of a man; she 
underrated the strength of the passion she had inspired. 
Men like Carleon have tenacity as well as strength of feel- 
ing. His love for this sweet child- woman whose deep soul 
he had instinctively probed was the passion of his life. It 
had been subdued, held in check, not killed. No mortal 
man can crush a strong feeling utterly under the heel of 
his will. Only by repeated struggles, eternal watchfulness, 
is victory won. 

Carleon had sought to do the woman he loved a kindness; 
he did himself a hurt. He realized it, and made his re- 
solve. Strong as he was, he dared not stay and face this 
temptation. He left the city suddenly. He went to the 
far North-west — a self-sent missionary to the Indians. 
From time to time Kildee heard through the papers of his 


kildee; or, the sphihx oe the red house. 429 

great work among the poor savages. Occasionally she saw 
his name appended to earnest appeals in behalf of the In- 
dians — to bold rebukes of the injustice done them. He 
espoused their cause against their oppressors — against their 
pretended friend — the Government. 

He wrote of their needs, their wrongs, the cruelty that 
drove them from their valley homes, where they had plant- 
ed their fields, had built their cottages, and churches and 
school-houses, and were making pathetic efforts to become 
civilized and to rear their children in more enlightened 
ways. Through the grasping covetousness of the white 
man, with his Government backing, the poor creatures 
were driven from these beloved settlements in the more 
fertile valleys, and forced to fly with what they could take, 
and herd upon some bleak rocky spot of inhospitable plain 
or hill-side, shelterless and heart-broken. 

Carleon depicted the wrongs of this savage race, and 
their sins which had grown out of these wrongs. He de- 
nounced the villainy of agents sent among them to swindle 
and plunder, and to demoralize them with liquor. 

Kildee read his vivid words with eager sympathy. She 
missed him sorely. More than once she thought of writing 
to him, but she could not venture to do this. In his short 
note of farewell he had not asked her to write — had given 
her no address — had said he would be as nomadic as Noah^s 
raven. 

Once she went to hear a lecture by a man who had been 
traveling and sojourning on the Pacific coast. He spoke 
of Carleon — of his self-denying life — how, with all his ac- 
complishments, his social and intellectual gifts, his still 
large fortune, he yet lived in rigid simplicity among far-off 
wilds, with a savage uncongenial people, for the sole sake 
of doing good to that people, through the sole motive of 
love and pity. 

‘‘The man is sublime, said the lecturer. ‘^He is a 
hero, to whom Napoleon is a pygmy. When he dies in 


430 kildee; or^ the sphikx of the red house. 

that far-off land, let it be said of him, as of one not so 
great: 

* Lay not a laurel crown, but lay a sword 
Upon Ills lonely grave, for he has fought 
Alone against a host 
At his far, frontier post, 

Nor rest nor love nor pleasui’e has he sought.’ ” 

As Kildee listened she found herself sobbing. Life was 
harder to her now. Her home-life was overshadowed. 
Max had failed in the business speculations he had under- 
taken. The money lost had been hers. It had come to 
her from her father^s estate. It was all swept away. She 
did not reproach him by a look — instead she comforted him 
with loving, encouraging words. But he was soured with 
disappointment. These sweet, weak natures easily sour 
when things go wrong. Max had tasted the novel intoxi- 
cating cup of prosperity, the gratification of being thought 
a man of means, the sensuous delight of surrounding him- 
self with pretty luxuries and being liked and caressed in 
society. He keenly resented the loss of these. That they 
were lost through his own lack of judgment made him only 
more bitter. He returned to- his studio, but he had poor 
success. His old genial, bright manner was gone. He did 
not attract. He had never excelled as a painter, and now 
his hand seemed to have lost its cunning. He had failed 
to follow Art with loving faithfulness and now she took her 
revenge. 

It became a struggle with them to live. Their pretty 
house was given up, their furniture sold and the money 
spent in paying board. Max would not apply to Kildee ’s 
relatives, for they had lent him money before and he had 
used it to buoy the sinking enterprises he had invested in. 
He determined to go to his aunt in North Minnesota. She 
was well off and she liked him. She had helped him more 
than once before his marriage. He had not the sturdy in- 


KILDEE; OK, THE SPHINX OF THE KED HOUSE. 431 

dependence that scorns assistance. He was quite willing 
to be helped. 

He went, taking Kildee with him, and the little child 
that had been born to them during the past year. But to 
his disgust he found his aunt on the point of marrying again 
and wholly taken up with her prospective husband and his 
children. After a short stay they set out to return to New 
York. They were on their way there this December day. 

Such a drear, wild day! The level, treeless stretch of 
land was one vast expanse of snow: the wind blew icily, 
the sky lowered in masses of leaden clouds. There was 
every sign of a fresh snow-storm. 

In a little while it began. It increased steadily in vio- 
lence; the air was filled with whirling, blinding fiakes; the 
track was buried more and more deeply under the white 
drift; the engine panted more laboriously as it plowed 
through the deepening mass, the train moved more slowly, 
and the impatience and anxiety of the passengers mo- 
mentarily increased. 

Night approached, and still the snow-storm continued. 
At length it became evident that the train could not pro- 
ceed. In vain the engine labored, struggled, groaned like 
some living giant. In vain coal was piled under the boiler 
and steam crowded up till the safety-valves gave warning. 
The train refused to move. It was snowed up. 

The night came down, and with its coming the snow 
ceased to fall, and the wind took up the cruel story. A 
bitter wind. The pitiless soul of the polar regions was in 
its breath. The thermometer fell rapidly; the cold in- 
creased every moment. The passengers began to complain 
that the car was uncomfortable. 

Put more coal in the stove,^^ was the cry, and the re- 
quest was not promptly obeyed. Presently a fearful rumor 
began to circulate; there was but little coal left upon the 
train. It had been used too lavishly in trying to force the 
engine through the snow. 


432 kildee; or^ the sphihx of the red house. 

Before midnight the coal had entirely given out. The 
suffering began to be great. The crying of children, the 
querulous exclamations of women and the muttered ejacu- 
lations of men were heard. The cold became intense. 

Burn the seats cried one, and the words were taken 
up. The appeal was made to the conductor; he ordered 
an ax to be brought, and soon half a dozen seats were 
broken and split to pieces and the fragments crammed into 
the stove. As they burned, more seats were made into 
fuel to feed the fire and impart a warmth to the half -frozen 
occupants of the car. The seats were all destroyed, the 
passengers crowded around the stove, pushing each other, 
in the efforts to get near it, the selfish element coming out, 
as it does always in a time of peril. Kildee clasped her 
child to her bosom and stood silent and suffering. She had 
taken off her warm shawl to wrap about the little one. 
She looked anxiously at Max. His health was delicate. 
Disappointment and anxiety had worn upon liim. She felt 
glad that his overcoat was thick and new. She had knotted 
her fur boa around his neck to protect his throat. He wanted 
to take the child, but she would not let him. He seemed 
to feel the cold intensely. He was blue and trembling. 
His suffering made him selfish, almost to indifference. 
He hardly noticed that some rough men were crowd- 
ing her back from the stove. He made a feeble remon- 
strance, a weak attempt to oppose the elbows and shoulders 
that pushed her and her child as well as himself away from 
the life-saving heat: then he gave up and let the half- 
drunken roughs have their will. 

The door of the car opened and shut quickly. A man 
had entered. One glance at his strong, calm face made 
Kildee^s fast congealing blood stir with a quickened motion; 
it was Carleon, journeying back eastward, through some 
impulse too strong to resist. His face inspired hope. He 
may help us,^^ was Kildee^s dreamy thought, or at least, 
he will take care of my child. 


kildee; or, the sphikx of the red house. 433 

She sat where she had sunk upon the floor, and Max sat 
helplessly by her. Carleon saw them. He made his way 
to her side. He lifted her quickly to her feet. He spoke 
to her almost sharply; he felt she must be roused. 

‘‘ Give me the child and drink this,^^ he said. He put 
the baby on his arm and put the flask containing brandy to 
Kildee^s lips. 

Drink, he said, and she obeyed him. But her facul- 
ties were fast becoming paralyzed. He handed the flask to 
Max, and with a few words of stern command, a vigorous 
sweeping of his arms, he cleared a way through the men to 
the stove, which still radiated a little heat. He wore a 
long cloak lined throughout with the gray fur of the Eocky 
Mountain fox. He took it off, and putting the baby in 
her arms, wrapped both in the warm cloak, paying no heed 
to her remonstrances. 

I am used to the cold,^^ he said cheerily, I have 
weathered many a norther on the plains. Never mind 
me.^^ He made a place for Max beside Kildee, where she 
sat near the stove. Then he stood by them with arms 
folded over his chest, and talked cheerfully, glanced from 
topic to topic, trying to keep them awake and animated. 
The brandy had made Max rally a little, but he still seemed 
to suffer greatly. 

The long night hours went by. The fuel was exhausted 
— the stove cold long before *help arrived; it came at last. 
As the morning dawned clear and bright over the waste of 
snow, the strong engine with a supply of coal, which had 
been telegraphed for, came to their assistance. It arrived 
too late for some. Several were frost-bitten — others had 
incipient inflammation of the lungs. Among these last 
was Max. He was attacked with pneumonia. He was 
taken to the next station, a railroad village, put to bed in 
the best room of the little hotel and a physician sum- 
moned, For days he lay ill unto death, nursed by Kildee 
with devoted tenderness and attended by a skillful physi- 


434 kildee; oe^ the sphihx of the eed house. 

cian from Indianapolis, whom Carleon had summoned by 
telegraph. 

Stay with him. You shall not lose by giving him all 
your attention/^ Carleon said to the doctor, who was his 
friend. The attentive nursing, the skillful treatment, 
seemed about to achieve a victory. Max grew better; then 
was willfully imprudent, relapsed, and was soon past hope. 
Just as the stars came out in the pale sky of the Christmas- 
eve, while the sunset after-glow yet flushed the waste of 
snow, the life of Max Eubin went out, his last look rest- 
ing on the face of the wife he loved. 

■ They carried him back to the home of his early years and 
laid him beside his mother — his father slept by the arrowy 
Ehone in Vaterland."^^ 

Carleon attended to everything. He left Kildee alone 
with her grief. The child would be her best comforter. 
After the funeral he was surprised to hear of Kildee^s inten- 
tion to go to New York. He had thought she would go to 
her sister in the South. Had he known the indebtedness to 
Heathcliff which poor unbusiness-like Max had incurred he 
would have understood Kildee^s reluctance to accept the 
warm invitation that she should come to them at once. 

She went to New York to the house in which she and 
Max had boarded before that ill-starred journey to the 
Pacific. Carleon parted from her at the wharf directly he 
had seen her ashore and procured a carriage for her. She 
gave him her hand from the carriage window and thanked 
him as she had done before. 

I will communicate with you on, a business matter as 
soon — as soon as I can,^^ she said. 

Her manner seemed to him reserved, even cold. She 
is remembering my old sins,^^ he thought sadly, as he 
turned away. He did not know the intricacies of woman ^s 
nature. He did not understand that she was blaming her- 
self remorsefully for not having loved Max more devotedly. 
She had not failed once in her outward duties; but in her 


KILDEE; OR, THE SPHIKX OF THE RED HOUSE. 435 

heart she was conscious that she had not been able to accord 
him that perfect love, that proud, trustful looking-up to 
which was her ideal of wifely duty. 

Carleon saw her no more to speak to for two weeks. He 
hesitated to intrude upon her grief while it was new, but he 
was troubled about her future. If she did not go to her re- 
lations how would she live? He had gathered from Max, 
during his interval of improvement, that he was without 
means. Every day he walked or rode by the house that 
held her and her child, but he rarely had a glimpse of her. 
One day he saw her come out closely veiled and drive to a 
jeweler^s shop. When she went into the shop she had a 
package in her hand; when she came out she no longer 
had it. Carleon waited until she had driven away, and 
then went into the shop. The jeweler and his clerk were 
examining a set of beautiful pearls — just bought, they told 
him. He asked permission to look at them. Inside, on 
the gold setting of each piece he saw the engraved initials 
of Kildee^s maiden name. It was her father^s gift to her 
on the evening of his inauguration ball. She had needed 
money badly, Carleon knew, or she would not have parted 
with it. 

He bought the jewels; he would find a way to restore 
them to her some time. Leaving the box at the jeweler^s 
he went to her boarding-house and asked to see her. She 
came in at once. 

I am glad you came,^^.she said as she sat near him. 

I wanted to see you to ask if you would kindly make out 
a statement of the expenses for — for everything. I wanted 
to pay it. 

(So it was to get money to defray the expenses of her 
husband^s illness and burial that she had sold her pearls.) 

I will send you the bills, Carleon said, with the re- 
ceipts attached. 

‘‘ Keceipts?^^ 

Yes, everything has been paid, I had money in my 

half. 


436 KILDEE; OE, THE SPHIHX OE THE EED HOUSE. 

possession belonging to your husband. I bought some pict- 
ures from him which he had hung in a gallery here. The 
money they brought paid for everything with a little bal- 
ance over — some three hundred dollars, which I have taken 
the liberty to put in the bank to your account/^ 

Oh! Mr. Carleon, the pictures were not worth so much 
— not nearly so much. I can not — 

It was a business transaction," said Oarleon conclu- 
sively. Doctor Simms was witness to it. I have the 
order for the pictures signed by your husband. Now, will 
you not tell me your plans? I have no right to ask, but — 
Yes, you have the right — the right of my friend — my 
good friend. I can never forget your kindness to him and 
me. I am going to stay here and try to earn a living by 
writing; oh, not poetry. I know writing poetry would not 
bring me bread. I am going to do newspaper work for the 
^ Times. Mr. Wentworth is an old friend. I^ave writ- 
ten for him before, things that pleased him, and he will try 
me now on a little salary — enough to support me.*’^ 

Are you sure you are strong enough for it?^^ 

Oh, yes; I am never ill. It will do me good.^^ 

He looked doubtingly at her little pale face, worn by 
nursing and anxiety. He was afraid she would see in his 
eyes the strong yearning that came over him. He walked 
to the other end of the room, then came back to where she 
sat. 

I am going away, "he said; going back to the Pacific 
coast. If at any time I can render you the service of a 
friend, will you let me know? I beg you to believe how 
gladly I would render such service. 

I do believe it^" she answered. 

He took her hand in his, looked with grave tenderness 
into her eyes, and said: 

God keep you, dear child; good-bye. 

It was nearly a year before she saw him again. It was a 
busy year to her. The work was new to her; she tried hard 


kilbee; or, the sphihx oe the red house. 437 

to make it wholly satisfactory. And in the intervals of her 
newspaper labors she began to write a book. The work 
and the care of her child and some anxious thoughts wore 
upon her. Her face lost a little of its perfect oval; her 
dark, sweet eyes had a weary look. Ohristmas-eve, as the 
twilight fell, she was seated in her tiny sitting-room, beside 
the glowing grate. She had been writing, but had laid 
down her pen to look at a pretty picture — her child asleep 
on the deep, warm-colored rug before the fire — a fiaxen- 
haired doll in one arm, the other around the neck of the 
pretty, shaggy white dog that was also coiled, up and com- 
fortably napping. 

Come in,^^ Kildee said as a rap came upon the door. 
She thought it was the servant with her tea. She started 
up when she saw the broad-shouldered figure and strong 
brown-bearded face. She came to meet him, with fiushed 
cheek and outstretched hands. He held her hand and 
looked down at her face. 

The work has not been good for you after all, he 

said. 

Do not decry your own prescription,^^ she answered 
smiling. Once you said to me: ^ You need work, and I 
have found it a tonic and a panacea. 

May I change the prescription?^^ he asked, still hold- 
ing her hand and looking into her eyes. “I said then, 
^ you need work;^ may I say now, ^ you need love and 
lovers tender care^? May I give them to you, Kildee? 
My own, my one love, I need you more than I can tell/^ 
Her answer satisfied his heart. 


THE EHB. 


ADTEKTISKMENTS. 



THE BEST 

WasbiM CoDipoDnl 

EVER INVENTED. 

IQ’o Lady, Married or Sin- 
gle, Kich or Poor, House- 
keeping or Boarding, will 
be without it after testing 
its utility. 

Sold by all first-class 
Grocers, but beware of 
worthless imitations. 


T=T3rZSXC!l 

GLUTEM SUPPOSITOBIES 

CURE COI\SXIPAXIOI¥ AIVR MAES. 

BO Cents by Mail. Circulars Free. 

HEALTH FOOD CO., 

4tli Aveuiie and lOth St., 1%. X. 


CANDY 

CANDY 


Send $1, $2, $3 or $5 for a sample retail box by 
Express, of 

THE BEST CAHDIES IN AMERICA, 

put up in elegant boxes, and strictly pure. Suit- 
able for presents. Express charges light. Refer 
to all Chicago. Try it once. 

If preferred, fine candy at 25c., 40c., and 60c, 
per pound; the best in the land for the 
money. Address 

€• F. TlflKU, 

Confectioner, 

CHICAGO. 


WHAT IS SAPOLIO? 


It is a solid, 
handsome cake 
of scouring soap, 
which has no 

equal for all cleaning purposes except the laundry. To use it is to value it. 

What will Sapolio do? Why, it will clean paint, make oil-cloths bright, and 
give the floors, tables and shelves a new appearance. 

It will take the grease off the dishes and off the pots and pans. 

You can scour the knives and forks with it, and make the tin thin^ shine 
brightly. The wash-basin, the bath-tub, even the greasy kitchen sink, will 
be as clean as a new pin if you use SAPOLIO. One cake will prove all 
we say. Be a clever little housekeep^ and try it. 

BEWARE OF IjVIITATIONS. 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


The Seaside Library-Pocket Edition. 


Persons who wish to purchase the following works in complete and un- 
abridged form are cautioned to order and see that they get The Seaside 
Library, Pocket Edition, as works published in other Libraries are fre- 
quently abridged and incomplete. Every number of The Seaside Library 
is unchanged and unabridged. 

Newsdealers wishing Catalogues of The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, 
bearing their imprint, will be supplied on sending their names, addresses, 
and number required. 

The works in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, are printed from 
larger type and on better paper than any other series published. 

The following works are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to 
any address, postage free, on receipt of price, by the publisher. Addresc 

GEORGE MUNRO, IRunro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y, 

\ynien ordering by mail please order by numbers.'] 


-A-iitliors’ List 


Works by the author of “ Addie’s 
Husband.” 

388 Addie’s Husband ; or, Through 


Clouds to Sunshine 10 

504 My Poor Wife 10 

Works by the author of “A Fatal 
Dower.” 

246 A Fatal Dower 10 

372 Phyllis’ Probation 10 

461 His Wedded Wife 20 

Works by the author of “ A Great 
Mistake.” 

244 A Great Mistake 20 

588 Cherry 10 


Woman’s Love-Story.” 

322 A Woman’s Love-Story 10 

677 Griselda 2o 

Mrs. Alexander’s Works. 

5 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

17 The Wooing O’t 20 

62 The Executor 20 

189 Valerie’s Fate 10 

229 Maid, Wife, or Widow? 10 

236 Which Shall it Be? 20 

339 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid... 10 

490 A Second Life 20 

564 At Bay . . 10 

794 Beaton’s Bargain 20 

797 Look Before You Leap 20 

805 The Freres. 1st half 20 

805 The Freres.. 2d half 20 


Alison’s Works. 

194 “ So Near, and Yet So Far 1” . . . 10 
278 For Life and Love 10 


F. Anstey’s Works. 

59 Vice Versa 20 

225 The Giant’s Robe 20 

503 The Tinted Venus. A Farcical 
Romance 10 


R. M. Ballantyne’s Works. 

89 The Red Eric 10 

95 The Fire Brigade 10 

96 Erling the Bold 10 

772 Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood 

Trader 20 

Anne Beale’s Works. 

188 Idonea 20 

199 The Fisher Village 10 

Basil’s Works. 

344 “ The Wearing of the Green ” . . 20 

547 A Coquette’s Conquest 20 

585 A Drawn Game 20 

M. Betham-Ed wards’s Works.. 

273 Love and Mirage; or, The Wait- 
ing on an Island 10 

579 The Flower of Doom, and Other 

Stories 10 

594 Doctor Jacob 20 


Walter Besant’s Works. 

97 All in a Garden Fair 20 

137 Uncle Jack 10 

140 A Glorious Fortune 10 

146 Love Finds the Way, and Other 

Stories. By Besant and Rice 10 

230 Dorothy Forster 20 

824 In Luck at Last 10 

541 Uncle Jack 10 


481 The House That Jack Built. ... 10 


651 “ Self or Bearer”. 


TEE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Pocket Edition, 


William Black’s Works. 


1 Yolande 20 

18 Shandon Bells 20 

21 Sunrise : A Story of These 

Times 20 

23 A Princess of Thule 20 

39 In Silk Attire 20 

44 Macleod of Dare 20 

49 Til at Beautiful Wretch 20 

50 The Strange Adventures of a 

Phaeton 20 

70 White Wings: A Yachting Ro- 
mance 10 

78 Madcap Violet 20 

81 A Daughter of Heth 20 

124 Three Featliers .. 20 

125 The Monarch of Mincing Lane. 20 

126 Kilmeny 20 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 20 
265 Judith Shakespeare : Her Love 

Affairs and Other Adventures 20 
472 The Wise Women of Inverness. 10 
627 White Heather 20 


R. D. Blackmore’s Works. 

67 Lorna Doone. 1st half 20 

67 Lorna Doone. 2d half 20 

427 The Remarkable History of Sir 

Thomas Upmore, Bart., M. P. 20 

615 Mary Anerley 20 

625 Erema; or, Bly Father’s Sin... 20 

629 Ci'ipps, the Carrier 20 

630 Cradock Nowell. First half... 20 

630 Cradock Nowell. Second half. 20 

631 Christo well. A Dartmoor Tale 20 

632 Clara Vaughan 20 

633 The Blaid of Sker. First half . . 20 
633 The Blaid of Sker. Second half 20 

636 Alice Lorraine. First half 20 

636 Alice Lorraine. Second half.. 20 


Miss M. E. Bracldon’s Works. 

35 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

56 Phantom Fortune 20 

74 Aurora Floyd 20 

HO Under the Red Flag 10 

153 The Golden Calf 20 

204 Vixen 20 

211 The Octoroon 10 

234 Barbara ; or, Splendid Misery. . 20 

263 An Ishmaelite 20 

315 The Mistletoe Bough. Edited 

by Bliss Braddon 20 

434 Wyllard’s Weird 20 

478 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. Part 1 20 

478 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. Part II 20 

480 Blarried in Haste. Edited by 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

487 Put to the Test. Edited by Bliss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

488 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

189 Rupert Godwin 20 

185 Mount Royal 20 


496 Only a Woman. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

497 The Lady’s Mile 20 

498 Only a Clod 20 

499 The Cloven Foot 20 

511 A Strange World 20 

515 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

524 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

529 The Doctor’s Wife 

542 Fenton’s Quest 20 

544 Cut by the County; or, Grace 

Darnel 10 

548 The Fatal Blarriage, and The 

Shadow in the Corner 10 

549 Dudley Carleon ; or. The Broth- 

er’s Secret, and George Caul- 
field’s Journey 10 

552 Hostages to Fortune 20 

553 Birds of Prey 20 

554 Charlotte’s Inheritance. (Se- 

quel to “ Birds of Prey ”) 20 

557 To the Bitter End 20 

559 Taken at the Flood 20 

560 Asphodel 20 

561 Just as I am; or, A Living Lie 20 

567 Dead Blen’s Shoes 20 

570 John Blarchmont's Legacy. ... 20 
618 The Mistletoe Bough. Christ- 
mas, 1885. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 2# 


Works by Charlotte M. Braeme» 
Author of “Bora Thorne.” 

19 Her Blother’s Sin 10 

51 Dora Thorne 20 

54 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

68 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

69 Madolin’s Lover 20 

73 Redeemed by Love 20 

76 Wife in Name Only 20 

79 Wedded and Parted 10 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice 10 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms.. 10 

190 Romance of a Black Veil 10 

220 Which Loved Him Best? 10 

237 Repented at Leisure 20 

249 “ Prince Charlie’s Daughter ”.. 10 

250 Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 

ana’s Discipline 10 

254 The Wife’s Secret, and Fair 

but False 10 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime 10 

287 At War W’ith Herself 10 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight 10 

291 Love’s Warfare 10 

292 A Golden Heart 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

294 Hilda 10 

295 A Woman’s War 10 

296 A Rose in Thorns 10 

297 Hilary’s Folly 10 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea 10 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love .• 10 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 
ter than Death 10 


TEE SEASIDE LIBB ART. —Pocket Edition. 


Works by Charlotte M. Braeme— 


Continued. 

S04 In Cupid’s Net 10 

805 A Dead Heart, and Lady Gwen- 

doline’s Dream 10 

806 A Golden Dawn, and Love for 

a Day 10 

807 Two Kisses, and Like no Other 

Love 10 

308 Beyond Pardon 20 

411 A Bitter Atonement 20 

433 My Sister Kate 10 

459 A Woman’s Temptation 20 

460 Under a Shadow 20 

465 The Earl’s Atonement * 20 

466 Between Two Loves 20 

467 A Struggle for a Ring 20 

469 Lady Darner’s Secret 20 

470 Evelyn’s Folly 20 

471 Thrown on the World 20 

476 Between Two Sins ! . . . . 10 

516 Put Asunder; or. Lady Castle- 

maine’s Divorce 20 

576 Her Martyrdom 20 

626 A Fair Mystery 20 

741 The Heiress of Hilldrop; or, 
The Romance of a Young 

Girl 20 

745 For Another’s Sin; or, A Strug- 
gle for Love 20 

T92 Set in Diamonds 20 


Charlotte Bronte’s Works. 

15 Jane Eyre 20 

57 Shirley 20 


Rhoda Broughton’s Works. 

86 Belinda 20 

101 Second Thoughts 20 

227 Nancy 20 

645 Mrs. Smith of Longmains 10 

758 “ Good-bye, Sweetheart!” 20 

765 Not Wisely, But Too Well 20 

767 Joan 20 

768 Red as a Rose is She 20 

769 Cometh Up as a Flower 20 


Robert Buchanan’s Works. 

145 “ Storm-Beaten:” God and The 

Man 20 

154 Annan Water 20 

181 The New Abelard 10 

398 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan 10 

646 The Master of the Mine 20 


Captain Fred Burnaby’s Works. 

875 A Ride to Khiva • 20 

384 On Horseback Through Asia 
Minor 20 


E. Fairfax Byrrne’s Works. 

621 Entangled 20 

638 A Fair Couutiy Maid 20 

- — A 


Hall Caine’s Works. 

445 The Shadow of a Crime 20 

520 She’s All the World to Me 10 

Rosa Nouchette Carey’s Works. 

215 Not Like Other Girls 20 

396 Robert Ord’s Atonement 20 

551 Barbara Heathcote’s Trial . , . , . 20 
608 For Lilias 20 

Lewis Carroll’s Works. 

462 Alice’s Adventures in Wonder- 
land. Illustrated by John 

Tenniel 20 

789 Through the Looking-Glass, 
and What Alice Found There. 
Illustrated by John Tenniel. . 20 


Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron’s Works. 


595 A North Country Maid 20 

796 In a Grass Country 20 

Wilkie Collins’s Works. 

52 The New Magdalen 10 

102 The Moonstone 20 

167 Heart and Science 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 10 

175 Love’s Random Shot, and Other 

Stories. 10 

233 “ I Say No;” or. The Love-Let- 
ter Answered 20 

508 The Girl at the Gate 10 

591 The Queen of Hearts 20 

613 The Ghost’s Touch, and Percy 

and the Prophet 10 

623 My Lady’s Monev 10 

701 The Woman in Wliite. 1st half 20 

701 The Woman in White. 2d half 20 

702 Man and Wife. 1st half 20 

702 Man and Wife. 2d half 20 

764 The Evil Genius 20 

Hugh Conway’s Works. 

240 Called Back 10 

251 The Daughter of the Stars, and 
Other Tales 10 

301 Dark Days 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest 10 

502 Carriston’s Gift 10 

525 Paul Vargas, and Other Stories 10 

543 A Family Affair 20 

601 Slings and Arrows, and Other 

Stories 10 

711 A Cardinal Sin 20 

804 Living or Dead 20 

J. Fenimore Cooper’s Works. 

60 The Last of the Mohicans 20 

63 The Spy 20 

309 The Pathfinder 20 

310 The Prairie 20 

318 The Pioneers ; or. The Sources 

of the Susquehanna 20 

349 The Two Admirals 20 

359 The Water-Witch. 20 

361 The Red Rover... 20 


THE SEASIDE LJBBARY.—Pocket Edition. 


J. Feniinore Cooper’s Works- 
Continued. 


373 Wing and Wing 20 

878 Homeward Bound; or, The 

Chase 20 

879 Home as Found. (Sequel to 

“ Homeward Bound”). 20 

880 Wyandotte; or, The Hutted 

Knoll 20 

885 The Headsman; or, The Ab- 

baye des Vignerons 20 

894 The Bravo 20 

897 Lionel Lincoln; or. The Leag- 
uer of Boston 20 

400 The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish. . . 20 

413 Afloat and Ashore 20 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 

“ Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

415 The Ways of the Hour 20 

416 Jack'l'ier; or, The Florida Reef 20 

419 The Chainbearer ; or,The Little- 

page Manuscripts 20 

420 Satanstoe; or, The Littlepage 

Manuscripts 20 

421 The Redskins; or, Indian and 

Injin. Being the conclusion 
of the Littlepage Manuscripts 20 

422 Precaution.. 20 

423 The Sea Lions; or. The Lost 

Sealers 20 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or. The 

Voyage to Cathay 20 

425 The Oak-Openings ; or. The Bee- 

Hunter 20 

431 The Monikins...o 20 


Georgiana M. Craik’s Woi^is. 


450 Godfrey Hel stone. 20 

606 Mrs. Hollyer ^ 

B. M. Croker’s Works, 

207 Pretty Miss Neville 20 

260 Proper Pride 10 

412 Some One Else 20 

May Crommelin’s Works. 

452 In the West Counfcrie . . 20 

619 Joy; or, The Light of Cold- 

Home Ford 20 

647 Goblin Gold 10 

Alphonse Daudet’s Works, 

ftS4 Jack ... 20 

574 The Nabob: AStory of Parisian 
Life and Manners 20 

Charles Dickens’s Works, 

10 The Old Curiosity Shop 20 

22 David Copperfield. Vol. 1 20 

22 David Copperfield. Vol. II 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Vol. 1 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Vol. II 20 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. First half. 20 
37 Nicholas Nickleby. Second half 20 

41 Oliver Twist 20 

77 A Tale of Two Cities ^ 

84 Hard Times .... 10 

91 Barnaby Rudge. 1st half 20 


91 Barnaby Rudge. 2d half 

94 Little Dorrit. First half ... 

94 Little Dorrit. Second half 

106 Bleak House. First half 

106 Bleak House. Second half.... 

107 Dombey and Son. 1st half .... 

107 Dombey and Son. 2d half 

108 The Cricket on the Hearth, and 

Doctor Marigold. 

131 Our Mutual Friend. (1st half). 

131 Our Mutual Friend. (2d half).. 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock 

152 The Uncommercial Traveler. . . 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins..... 

169 The Haunted Man. 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 

Chuzzle wit. First half 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 
Chuzzlewit. Second half 

439 Great Expectations.. 

440 Mrs.* Lirriper’s Lodgings 

447 American Notes 

448 Pictures From Italy, and The 

Mudfog Papers, &c. .......... 

454 The Mystery of Edwin Drood . . 
456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative 
of Every-day Life and Every- 
day People 

676 A Child’s History of England. . 

Sarah Doutlney’s Works, 

338 The Family Difficulty . .. 

679 Where Two Ways Meet 

F, Du Boisgohey’s Works, 

82 Sealed Lips.... 

104 The Coral Pin. 1st half 

104 The Coral Pin. 2d half 

264 Pi6douche, a French Detective. 
328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 

First half 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 

Second half 

453 The Lottery Ticket 

475 The Prima Donna’s Husband., 

522 Zig-Zag, the Clown; or. The 

Steel Gauntlets 

523 The Consequences of a Duel. A 

Parisian Romance 

648 The Angel of the Bells 

697 The Pretty Jailer. 1st half 

697 The Pretty Jailer. 2d half 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. 1st 

half 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. 2d 

half 

782 The Closed Door. 1st half 

782 The Closed Door. 2d half 

“The Duchess’s’^ Works, 

2 Molly Bawn 

6 Portia 

14 Airy Fairy Lilian 

16 Phyllis 

25 Mrs. Geoffrey 

29 Beauty’s Daughters 

30 Faith and Unfaith . 


g gggg 8 S SS 8588 8 55 85885 8888888 


THE SEASIDE LIBBABY.—Poclcet^ Edition, 


TheDnchess’s” Works— Coii« 
tinued* 

318 Loys, Lord Berresford, and 


Eric Dering 10 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d. . . 10 

123 Sweet is True Love. 10 

129 Rossmoyne 10 

134 The Witching Hour, and Other 

Stories . . . < . - 10 

136 “That Last Rehearsal,” and 

Other Stories 10 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites 10 

171 Fortune’s Wheel, and Other 

Stories 10 

284 Doris 10 

812 A Week in Killarney; or, Her 

Week’s Amusement 10 

842 The Baby. — One NewYear’s Eve 10 

390 Mildred Trevanion...,...^ 10 

401 In Durance Vile, and Other 

Stories 10 

486 Dick’s Sweetheart 20 

494 A Maiden All Forlorn, and Bar- 
bara 10 

517 A Passive Crime, and Other 

Stories 10 

541 “ As It Fell Upon a Day.” 10 

733 Lady Branksmere 20 

771 A Mental Struggle ^ 

785 The Haunted Chamber 10 


Alexander Dumas’s Works* 

55 The Three Guardsmen ,20 

75 Twenty Years After. 20 

259 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. A 
Sequel to “ The Count of 

Monte-Cristo ” 10 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Part 1 20 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Partll 20 

717 Beau Tancrede; or, The Mar- 
riage Verdict 20 

Maria Edgeworth’s Works. 

708 Ormond 20 

788 The Absentee. An Irish Story. 20 

George Eliot’s Works* 

3 The Mill on the Floss 20 

31 Middlemarch. 1st half 20 

31 Middlemarch. 2d half 20 

34 Daniel Deronda. 1st half 20 

.34 Daniel Deronda. 2d half 20 

36 Adam Bede 20 

42 Romola 20 

693 Felix Holt, the Radical 20 

707 Silas Marner: The Weaver of 

Raveloe 10 

728 Janet’s Repentance. 10 

762 Impressions of Theophrastus 
Such..-.,,, 10 

B. Ij* Farj eon’s Works. 

179 Little Make-Believe 10 

573 Love’s Harvest 20 

607 Self-Doomed 10 

616 The Sacred Nugget .. 20 

657 Christmas Angel 10 


G* Manville Fenn’s Works*. 


193 The Rosery Folk 10 

558 Poverty Corner 20 

587 The Parson o’ Dumford 20 

609 The Dark House 10 

Octave Feuillet’s Works* 

66 The Romance of a Poor Young 

Man 10 

386 Led Astray; or, “La Petite 
Comtesse” lo 


Mrs. Forrester’s Works* 

80 June 20 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 
ciety 10 

484 Although He Was a Lord, and 

Other Tales 10 

715 I Have Lived and Loved 20 

721 Dolores ^ 

724 Bly Lord and My Lady 20 

726 My Hero 20 

727 Fair Women 20 

729 Mignon 20 

732 From Olympus to Hades 20 

734 Viva 20 

736 Roy and Viola 20 

740 Rhona 20 

744 Diana Carew ; or. For a Wom- 
an’s Sake 20 


Jessie Fotliergill’s Works. 

314 Peril 20 

572 Healey... 20 

B* E. FrancilLoii’s Works. 

135 A Great Heiress: A Fortune 

in Seven Checks 10 

319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 

Fables 10 

360 Ropes of Sand 20 

656 The Golden Flood. By R. E. 
Francillon and Wm. Senior.. 10 


Emile Gaboriau’s Works* 

7 File No. 113 20 

12 Other People’s Money 20 

20 Within an Inch of His Life . ^ 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol 1 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol. H 20 

33 The Clique of Gold 10 

38 The Widow Lerouge 20 

43 The Mystery of Orcival 20 

144 Promises of Marriage 10 


Charles Gibbon’s Works* 

64 A Maiden Fair 10 

317 By Mead and Stream 20 

James Grant’s Works. 

566 The Royal Highlanders ; or. 

The Black Watch in Egypt. . . 20 
781 The Secret Dispatch 1C 


TEE SEASIDE LlBJl ART,— Pocket Edition. 


Bliss Grant’s Works. 

222 The Sun-Maid 20 

655 Cara Roma 20 

Arthur Griffiths’s Works. 

614 No. 99 10 

680 Fast and Loose 20 

H. Rider Haggard’s Works. 

432 The Witch’s Head 20 

753 King Solomon’s Mines 20 

Thomas Hardy’s Works. 

139 The Romantic Adventures of 

a Milkmaid 10 

530 A Pair of Blue Eyes 20 

690 Far From the Madding Crowd. 20 
791 The Mayor of Casterbridge. .. . 20 

John B, Harwood’s Works. 

143 One False, Botli Fair 20 

S58 Within the Clasp 20 

Mary Cecil Hay’s Works, 

65 Back to the Old Home 10 

72 Old Myddelton’s Money 20 

196 Hidden Perils 10 

197 For Her Dear Sake 20 

224 The Arundel Motto 20 

281 The Squire’s Legacy 20 

290 Nora’s Love Test 20 

408 Lester’s Secret 20 

678 Dorothy’s Venture 20 

716 Victor and Vanquished 20 

Mrs. Cashel-Hoey’s Works, 

313 The Lover’s Creed 20 

802 A Stern Chase 20 

Tighe Hopkins’s Works. 

509 Nell Hafifenden 20 

?14 ’Twixt Love and Duty 20 

Works by the Author of Judith 
Wynne.” 

332 Judith Wynne 2u 

506 Lady Lovelace 20 

William H, G, Kingston’s Works, 

117 A Tale of the Shore and Ocean. 20 

133 Peter the Whaler 10 

761 Will Weatherhelm 20 

763 The Midshipman, Marmaduke 
Merry 20 

Charles Lever’s Works. 

1#1 Harry Lorrequer 20 

212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dra- 
goon. First half 20 

212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dra- 
goon. Second half 20 

243 Tom Burke of “Ours.” First 

half 20 

?43 Tom Burke of “Ours.” Seo- 
pnd half 20 


Mary Linskill’s Works. 

473 A Lost Son 20 

620 Between the Heather and the 

Northern Sea 20 

Samuel Lover’s Works, 

663 Handy Andy 26 

664 Rory O’More . . 20 

Sir E, Bulwer Lyttou’s Works, 

40 The Last Days of Pompeii 20 

83 A Strange Story 20 

90 Ernest Maltravers 20 

130 The Last of the Barons. First 

half 20 

130 The Last of the Barons. Sec- 
ond half 20 

162 Eugene Aram 20 

164 Leila; or. The Siege of Grenada 10 
650 Alice ; or. The Mysteries. (A Se- 
quel to “ Ernest Maltravers ”) 20 
720 Paul Clifford 20 

George Macdonald’s Works, 

282 Donal Grant 20 

325 The Portent 10 

326 Phantasies. A Faerie Romance 

for Men and Women 10 

722 What’s Mine’s Mine 20 

Florence Marryat’s Works, 

159 A Moment of Madness, and 

Other Stories 10 

183 Old Contrairy, and Other 

Stories 10 

208 The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, 

and Other Stories 10 

276 Under the Lilies and Roses 10 

144 The Heart of Jane Warner 20 

449 Peeress and Player.. 20 

G89 The Heir Presumptive 20 

Captain Marryat’s Works. 

SS The Privateersman 20 

272 The Little Savage 10 

Helen B, Mathers’s Works. 

13 E3’re’s Acquittal 10 

221 Coinin’ Thro’ the Rye 20 

458 Found Out 10 

535 Murder or Manslaughter? 10 

673 Story of a Sin 20 

713 “ Cherry Ripe ” 20 

795 Sam’s Sweetheart 20 

798 The Fashion of this World . 10 

799 My Lady Green Sleeves ... 20 

Justin McCarthy’s Works. 

121 Maid of Athens 20 

602 Camiola 20 

685 England Under Gladstone. 

^ 1880—1885 20 

747 Our Sensation Novel. Edited 

by Justin H. McCarthy, M.P.. 10 
779 Doom I An Atlantic Episode. .. 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRABY. — Pocket Edition, 


Mrs, Alex. McVeigh Miller’s 


Works. 

267 Laurel Vane; or, The Girls’ 

Conspiracy 20 

268 Lady Gay’s Pride; or, The 

Miser’s Treasure 20 

269 Lancaster’s Choice 20 

S16 Sworn to Silence; or, Aline 

Rodney’s Secret 20 

Jean Middlemas’s Works. 

155 Lady Muriel’s Secret 20 

639 Silvermead 20 

Alan Muir’s Works. 

172 “Golden Girls” 20 

3i6 Tumbledown Farm 10 

Miss Mulock’s Works, 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman 20 

245 Miss Tommy, and In a House- 

Boat 10 

808 King Arthur. Not a Love Story 20 


357 John 

370 Lucy Crofton 

371 Margaret Maitland 

377 Magdalen Hepburn : A Story of 

the Scottish Reformation 

402 Lilliesleaf ; or. Passages in the 
Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait- 
land of Sunnyside 

410 Old Lady Mary 

527 The Days of My Life 

528 At His Gates 

568 The Perpetual Curate 

5693^arry Muir 

603 Agnes. 1st half • 

603 Agnes. 2d half 

604 Innocent. 1st half 

604 Innocent. 2d half 

605 Ombra 

645 Oliver’s Bride 

655 The Open Door, and The Por- 
trait 

687 A Country Gentleman 

703 A House Divided Against Itself 
710 The Greatest Heiress in England 


“ Ouida’s ” Works. 


David Christie Murray’s Works. 


58 By the Gate of the Sea 10 

195 “ The Way of the World ” 20 

320 A Bit of Human Nature 10 

661 Rainbow Gold 20 

674 First Person Singular 20 

691 Valentine Strange 20 

695 Hearts: Queen, Knave, and 

Deuce 20 

698 A Life’s Atonement 20 

737 Aunt Rachel 10 


Works by the author of “My 
Ducats and My Daughter.” 


376 The Crime of Christmas Day. 10 
596 My Ducats and My Daughter. .. 20 


W. E. Norris’s Works. 


184 Thirlby Hall 20 

277 A Man of His Word 10 

355 That Terrible Man 10 

500 Adrian Vidal 20 


Eaurence Oliphant’s Works. 

47 Altiora Peto 20 

637 Piccadilly 10 


4 Under Two Flags 

9 Wanda, Countess von Szalras.. 

116 Moths 

128 Afternoon and Other Sketches. 

226 Friendship 

228 Princess Napraxine 

238 Pascarel 

239 Signa. 

433 A Rainy June 

639 Othmar. 

671 Don Gesiialdo 

672 In Maremma. First half 

672 In Maremma. Second half 


James Payn’s Works. 

48 Thicker Than Water 

186 The Canon’s Ward 

343 The Talk of the Town 

577 In Peril and Privation 

589 The Luck of the Darrells. . . 


Miss Jane Porter’s Works. 

660 The Scottish Chiefs. 1st half.. 
660 The Scottish Chiefs. 2d half.. 
696 Thaddeus of Warsaw 


Cecil Power’s Works. 


Mrs. Oliphant’s Works. 

45 A Little Pilgrim 

177 Salem Chapel 

205 The Minister’s Wife 

321 The Prodigals, and Their In- 
heritance 

337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 
Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
including some Chronicles of 

the Borough of Fendie 

845 Madam 

861 The House on the 


10 

20 

30 


336 Philistia 20 

611 Babylon . 20 


Mrs. Campbell Praed’s Works. 


10 


428 Zero: A Story of Monte-Carlo. 10 
477 Affinities 10 


20 

20 

20 


Eleanor C. Price’s Works. 




173 The Foreigners. 
331 Gerald 


20 

29 


ggg 8S88S g858o8888o888 8885 S88888888808 8 808 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Pocket Edition. 


William M. Thackeray’s Works, 

27 Vanity Fair 20 

165 The History of Henry Esmond. 20 

464 The Nevvcomes. Part 1 20 

464 The Newcomes. Part II 20 

531 The Prime Minister (1st half).. 20 
531 The Prime Minister (2d half).. 20 
670 The Rose and the Ring. Illus- 
trated 10 

Annie Thomas’s Works, 

141 She Loved Him! ,10 

142 Jenifer 20 

565 No Medium 10 

Anthony Trollope’s Works, 

32 The Land Leaguers 20 

93 Anthony Trollope’s Autobiog- 
raphy 20 

147 Rachel Ray 20 

200 An Old Man’s Love 10 

531 The Prime Minister. 1st half. . 20 
531 The Prime Minister. 2d half. .. 20 

621 The Warden 10 

622 Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. . . 10 

667 The Golden Lion of Granpere.. 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. 1st half 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. 2d half ^ 

Margaret Veley’s Works, 

298 Mitchelhurst Place 10 

586 “ For Percival ” 20 

Jules Verne’s Works, 

87 Dick Sand; or, A Captain at 

Fifteen 20 

100 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas. 20 
368 The Southern Star; or, the Dia- 
mond Land 20 

395 The Archipelago on Fire 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. Illustrated. 

Part I 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. Illustrated. 

Part II 10 

678 Mathias Sandorf. Illustrated. 

Part III 20 

659 The Waif of the “ Cynthia ”... 20 

li, B, Walford’s Works, 

241 The Baby’s Grandmother 10 

256 Mr. Smith : A Part of His Life. 20 
258 Cousins 20 

668 The History of a Week 10 

F, Warden’s Works, 

192 At the World’s Mercy 20 

248 The House on the Marsh 10 

286 Deldee; or. The Iron Hand 20 

482 A Vagrant Wife 20 

656 A Prince of Darkness 20 


E, Werner’s Works. 

327 Raymond’s Atonement.... 20 

640 At a High Price 20 

( 5 ) 


J. Why te-Mel vine’s Works 


409 Roy’s Wife 20 

451 Market Harborough, and Inside 
the Bar 2 ^ 

John Strange Winter’s Works, 

492 Mignon ; or. Booties’ Baby. Il- 
lustrated 10 

600 Houp-La. Illustrated 10 

638 In Quarters with the 25th (The 

Black Horse) Dragoons 10 

688 A Man of Honor. Illustrated.. 10 

746 Cavalry Life; or. Sketches and 

Stories in Barracks and Out. . 20 


Mrs. Henry Wood’s Works. 


8 East Lynne , . 20 

255 The Mystery 20 

277 The Surgeon’s Daughters 10 

508 The Unholy Wish 10 

513 Helen Whitney’s Wedding, and 

Other Tales 10 

514 The Mystery of Jessy Page, and 

Other Tales 10 

610 The Story of Dorothy Grape, 

and Other Tales lu 

Charlotte M. Yonge’s Workt. 

247 The Armourer’s Prentices 10 

275 The Three Brides 10 

535 Henrietta’s Wish. A Tale 10 

563 The Two Sides of the Shield 20 

640 Nuttie’s Father 20 

665 The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest.. 20 

666 My Young Alcides: A Faded 

Photograph 20 

739 The Caged Lion 20 

742 Love and Life 20 

Miscellaneous. 

53 The Story of Ida. Francesca. . 10 
61 Charlotte Temple. Mrs. Row- 

son 10 

99 Barbara’s History. Amelia B. 

Edwards 20 

103 Rose Fleming. Dora Russell.. 10 
105 A Noble Wife. John Saunders 20 

111 The Little School-master Mark. 

J. H. Shorthouse 10 

112 The Waters of Marah. John 

Hill 20 

113 Mrs. Carr’s Companion. M. G. 

Wight wick 10 

114 Some of Our Girls. Mrs. C. J. 

Eiloart 20 

115 Diamond Cut Diamond. T. 

Adolphus Trollope 10 

120 Tom Brown’s School Days at 
Rugby. Thomas Hughes — 20 
122 lone Stewart. Mrs. E. Lynn 

Linton 20 

127 Adrian Bright. Mrs. Caddy 20 

149 The Captain’s Daughter. From 

the Russian of Pushkin 10 

151 'BheDucie Diamonds. C. Blath- 
erwick 1 $ 


TEE SEASIDE LIBBABT.—Poclcet Edition. 


Antliony Trollope’s Works. 


32 The Land Leaguers 20 

93 Anthony Trollope’s Autobiog- 
raphy 20 

147 Rachel Ray 20 

500 An Old Man’s Love 10 

531 The Prime Minister. 1st half. . 20 
531 The Prime Minister. 2d half. . . 20 

621 The Warden 10 

622 Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. . . 10 
667 The Golden Lion of Granpere.. 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. 1st half 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. 2d half 20 

775 The Three Clerks 20 

Margaret Veley’s Works. 

298 Mitchelhurst Place 10 

586 “ For Percival ” 20 

Jules Verne’s Works. 

87 Dick Sand; or, A Captain at 

Fifteen 20 

100 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas. 20 
368 The Southern Star ; or, the Dia- 
mond Land 20 

395 The Archipelago on Fire 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. Illustrated. 

Part 1 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. Illustrated. 

Part II 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. Illustrated. 

Partin 10 

659 The Waif of the “ Cynthia ”... 20 
751 Great Voyages and Great Navi- 
gators. First half 20 

751 Great Voyages and Great Navi- 
gators. Second half 20 


li. B. Walford’s Works. 

241 The Baby’s Grandmother 10 

256 Mr. Smith : A Part of His Life. 20 

258 Cousins 20 

658 The History of a Week 10 

F. Warden’s Works. 

192 At the World’s Mercy 10 

248 The House on the Marsh 10 

286 Deldee; or, The Iron Hand 20 

482 A Vagrant Wife 20 

556 A Prince of Darkness 20 

William Ware’s Works. 

709 Zenobia; or. The Fall of Pal- 
myra. 1st half 20 

709 Zenobia; or. The Fall of Pal- 
myra. 2d half 20 

760 Aurelian; or, Rome in the Third 
Century 20 


E. Werner’s Works. 

827 Raymond’s Atonement 20 

540 At a High Price 20 


Works by the author of “ What’s 
His Offence?” 

637 What’s His Offence? 20 

780 Rare Pale Margaret 20 

784 The Two Miss Flemings 20 

fJ.J. Whyte-Melville’s Works. 

409 Roy’s Wife 20 

451 Market Harborough, and Inside 
the Bar 20 


John Strange Winter’s Works. 
492 Mignon ; or, Booties’ Baby. Il- 
lustrated 10 

600 Houp-La. Illustrated 10 

638 In Quarters with the 25th (The 

Black Horse) Dragoons 10 

688 A Man of Honor. Illustrated . . 10 

746 Cavalry Life ; or, Sketches and 
Stories in Barracks and Out. . 20 


Mrs. Henry Wood’s Works. 

8 East Lynne 20 

255 The Mystery 20 

277 The Surgeon’s Daughters 10 

508 The Unholy Wish 10 

513 Helen Whitney’s Wedding, and 

Other Tales 10 

514 The Mystery of Jessy Page, and 

Other Tales 10 

610 The Story of Dorothy Grape, 
and Other Tales * 10 

Charlotte M. Yonge’s Works. 

247 The Armourer’s Prentices 10 

275 The Three Brides 10 

535 Henrietta’s Wish; or, Domi- 
neering * 10 

563 The Two Sides of the Shield.. . . 20 

640 Nuttie’s Father 20 

665 The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest. . 20 

666 My Young Alcides: A Faded 

Photograph 20 

739 The Caged Lion 20 

742 Love and Life 20 

783 Chantry House 20 

790 The Chaplet of Pearls ; or. The 
White and Black Ribaumont. 

First half 20 

790 The Chaplet of Pearls ; or. The 
White and Black Ribaumont. 

Second half 20 

800 Hopes and Fears; or, Scenes 
from the Life df a Spinster. 

First half 20 

800 Hopes and Fears; or. Scenes 
from the Life of a Spinster. . 
Second half SO 

Miscellaneous. 

53 The Story of Ida. Francesca. . 10 
61 Charlotte Temple. Mrs. Row- 

son 10 

90 Barbara’s History. Amelia B. 


Edwards 20 


TEE SEASIDE LIBBAUY. — Poclcet Edition. 


Miscellaueoiis— Coutiiiued. 

773 Tlie Mark of Cain. Andrew 

Lang: . . , , . . 10 

774 The Life and Travels of Mungo 

Park 10 

77G P6re Goriot. Honore De Bal- 
zac 20 

777 The Voyages and Travels of 

of Sir John Maundeville, Kt. . 10 

778 Society’s Verdict. By the au- 

thor of “ My Marriage ” 20 

786 Ethel Mil dmay’s Follies. By au- 

thor of “ Petite’s Romance ”. 20 

787 Court Royal. S. Baring-Gould 


793 Vivian Grey. By the Rt. Hon. 
Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of 

Beaconsfield. First half 20 

793 Vivian Grey. By the Rt. Hon. 
Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of 
Beaconsfield. Second half ... 20 
801 She Stoops to Conquer, and 
The Good-Natured Man. Oli- 
ver Goldsmith 10 

803 Major Frank. A. L. G. Bos- 

boom-Toussaint 20 

807 If Love Be Love. D. Cecil Gibbs 20 
809 Witness My Hand. By author 
of “ Lady Gwendolen’s Tryst ” K? 


Persons who wish to purchase the foregoing works in complete and un- 
abridged form are cautioned to order and see that they get The Seaside 
Library, Pocket Edition, as works published in other libraries are fre- 
quently abridged and incomplete. Every number of Tas Seaside Library 
is unchanged and unabridged. 

Newsdealers wishing catalogues of The Seaside Library, Pocket Edi- 
tion, bearing their imprint, will be supplied on sending their names, 
addresses, and number required. 

The works in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, are printed from 
larger type and on better paper than any other series published. 

The foregoing works are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to 
any address, postage free, on receipt of price, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. 


[When oi'dering by mail please order by numbers.'] 


Now Ready— Beautifully Bound in . Cloth— Price 50 Cents. 


A NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION OF THAT MOST DELIGHTFUL OF 
CHILDREN’S STORIES, 







By L.E\V1S CARROLili, 

Author of “ Through the Looking-Glass.” 


With Forty-two Beautiful Illustrations by John Teniiiel. 

The most delicious and taking nonsense for children ever written. A 
book to be read by all mothers to their little ones. It makes them 
dance with delight. Everybody enjoys the fun of this charming writer 
for the nursery. 


THIS NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION, BOUND IN CLOTH, PRICE 50 CENTS, 
IS PRINTED IN LARGE, HANDSOME, READABLE TYPE, WITH 
ALL THE ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE EX- 
PENSIVE ENGLISH EDITION. 

Sent 1>y Ifla.il on Receipt of* 50 Cents. 

Address GEORGE MUNRO, Miiiiro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to ‘J7 Vau dewater &5treet. New York. 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocket Edition, 

LATEST ISSUES: 


NO. PRICE. 

669 Pole on Whist 20 

822 A Passion Flower. A Novel 20 

823 The Heir of the Ages. By James 

Payn 20 

824 Her Own Doing. W. E. Norris 10 

825 The Master Passion. By Flor- 

ence Marryat 20 

826 Cynic Fortune. By D. Christie 

Murray 20 

827 Effie Ogilvie. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

828 The Prettiest Woman in War- 

saw. By Mabel Collins 20 

829 The Actor’s Ward. By the au- 

thor of “A Fatal Dower ”.. . 20 


830 Bound by a Spell. Hugh Con- 

way, author of “Called Back” 20 

831 Pomegranate Seed. By the au- 

nPnrz-v TVTioa TTlcrv^- 


ings,” etc 20 

832 Kidnapped. By Robert Louis 

Stevenson 20 

833 Ticket No. “9672.” By Jules 

Verne. First half 10 

834 A Ballroom Repentance. By 

Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 

835 Vivian the Beauty. By Mrs. 

Annie Edwards 20 

836 A Point of Honor. By Mrs An- 

nie Edwards 20 

837 A Vagabond Heroine. By Mrs. 

Annie Edwards 10 

838 Ought We to Visit Her? By 

Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 

839 Leah: A Woman of Fashion. 

By Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 

840 One Thing Needful; or, The 

Penalty of Fate. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

841 Jet: Her Face or Her Fortune? 

By Mrs. Annie Edwards 10 

842 A Blue-Stocking. By Mrs An- 

nie Edwards 10 

843 Archie Lovell. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards 20 

844 Susan Fielding. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards 20 

845 Philip Earnscliffe; or, The 

Morals of May Fair. By Mrs. 
Annie Edwards 20 

847 Bad to Beat. By Hawley Smart 10 

848 My Friend Jim. ByW.E. Norris 10 

849 A Wicked Girl. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

850 A Playwright’s Daughter. By 

Mrs. Annie Edwards 10 

851 The Cry of Blood. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. First half 20 


NO. PRICK. 

851 The Cry of Blood. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. Second half 20 

852 Under Five Lakes ; or, The 

Cmise of the “Destroyer.” 

By M. Quad 20 

853 A True Magdalen. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

854 A Woman’s Error. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne.” 20 

855 The Dynamiter. Robert Louis 

Stevenson and Fanny Van de 
Grift Stevenson 20 

856 New Arabian Nights. By Rob- 

ert Louis Stevenson 20 

857 Kildee; or, The Sphinx of the 

Red House. Mary E. Bryan. 
First half 20 

857 Kildee; or. The Sphinx of the 

Red House. Mary E. Bryan. 
Second half 20 

858 Old Ma’m’selle’s Secret. By E. 

Marlitt 20 

859 Ottilie: An Eighteenth Century 

Idyl. By Vernon Lee. The 
Prince of the 100 Soups. Ed- 
ited by Vernon Lee 20 

860 Her Lord and Master. By Flor- 

ence Marryat 20 

861 My Sister the Actress. By Flor- 

ence Marry at 20 

862 Ugly Barrington. By “ The 

Duchess.” Betty’s Visions. 

By Rhoda Broughton 10 

863 “ My Own Child.” By Florence 

Marryat 20 

864 “No Intentions.” By Florence 

Marryat 20 

865 Written in Fire. By Florence 

Marryat 20 

866 Miss Harrington’s Husband. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

867 The Girls of Feversham. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

869 The Poison of Asps. By Flor- 

ence Mai-ryat 10 

870 Out of His Reckoning. By 

Florence Marryat 10 

874 A House Party. By “Ouida” 10 

875 Lady Valw^orth’s Diamonds. By 

“ The Duchess ” 20 

876 Mignon’s Secret. John Strange 

Winter 10 

881 Mohaw^ks. By Miss M. E. Brad- 
don. 1st half 20 

881 Mohawks. By Miss M. E. Brad- 
don. 2d half 20 


The foregoing works, contained in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, 
are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on 
receipt of price. Parties ordering by mail will please order by numbers. Ad- 
dross 

GEORGE MIJNRO, 
mUNRO’S PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y. 


P. O. Box 3751. 



Handsomely Bound in Clotb. 12mo. PFice $1.00. 


The latest of Dr. Talmage’s sermons have not yet been prt 
sented in lK)ok form They hav^e appeared weekly in The ISTe'^ 
Fireside Companion, and are now 

Published for the First Time in Book Form, 


THE PRICE OF WHICH IS WITHIN THE REACH OF ALL. 



PRINTED IN 

CLEAR, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE, 

4 

AND WILL MAKE 

\N ELEGANT AND ACCEPTABLE HOLIDAY GIFT 


The above will be sent postpaid on receipt of price, $1,00. 

Address 

GEOR&E MUNRO, Publisher. 

Bo3ctV/5i XU te Vandewater Street. New Vor^ 


JUST ISSUED. 


JUST ISSUED 


JULIET CORSON’S 

NEW FAMILY GBOK BGOK. 

BY MISS JULIET CORSON, 

Author of “ Meals for the Million,” etc., etc. 
Superintendent of the New York School op Cookery. 


PEICE: HANDSOIEELY BOUND IN CLOTH, $1.00. 

A COMPREHEKSIYE COOK BOOK 

hor Family Use in City and Country. 

CONTAINING 

PRACTICAL RECIPES AND FULL AND PLAIN DIREC- 
TIONS FOR COOKING ALL DISHES USED 
IN AMERICAN HOUSEHOLDS. 

The Best and Most Economical Methods of Cooking Meat^ Fish, 
Vegetables, Sauces, Salads, Puddings and Pies. 

How to Prepare Relishes and Savory Accessories, Picked-iip Biskes, 
Soups, Seasoning, Stuffing and Stews. 

How to Make Good Bread, Biscuit, Omelets, Jellies, Jams, Pan- 
cakes, Fritters and Fillets. 


Miss Corson is the best American writer on cooking. All of her recipes 
have been carefully tested in the New York School of Cookery. If her direc- 
tions are carefully followed there will be no failures and no reason for com- 
plaint. Her directions are always plain, very complete, and easily followed. 

Juliet Corson’s New Family Cook Book 

Is sold by all newsdealers. It will be sent, postpaid, on receipt of prioe: 
handsomely bound in cloth, $1.00. Address 

GEORGE MUNEO, 

Munro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vande-water St., N. Y 


fUE NETy JoriK FASHION BAEAibC. 


BOOK OF THE FOILB'! 


i*lf£Il€£: fiA ClSIl'il'Si. 


THIS IS A LITTLE BOOK 

wmoB 

WE CAN RECOMMEND TO EVERY LADY 

FOR THB 

iaSSSEmiON INCBEASE OF HEAB-^ ANB £BAm 

IT COOTAINS ITJLL WKECTIONS FOB AM. THE 

ARTS AND MYSTERIES OF PERSONAL DECORATION, 

AND roR 

taasing tbe Natural Graces of Form and Expression. 

AM, THE LITTLE AFFECTIONS OF THE 

Slsiaa, I=Cair, lET^res anca.- Bod.3? 

THAT DETRACT FROM APPEARANCE AND HAPPINESS 

Are Hade the Subjects of Precise and Excellent Eecipes 

Ladies Are Instructed How to Reduce Their leighi 

Without Injury to Health and 17711110111 Produdliig 
Pallor and Weakness. 


JSOTmNG OTfiCTElSSABY TO 

A COMPLETE TOILET BOOK OF RECIPES 

AND 

VALtTABLE ABVIOE MS mFOBUCATIOH 
aAS BEEN OVERLOOKED IN THE COMPILATION OF THIS VOLUNH; 

For aaie by all Newsaeaiers, or sent ®o any addiress on recelpc d s» otscm 
>«wcage prepaid, by the pabliaher. Address 

CIEOKUE MUNBO, Kunro’s Pablishing Houso, 

aP.r. iU>z3»L #teS7V8i<icwMerSBree' « « 


“Ouida’s” Latest Novel Now Ready in 
Large, Bold, Handsome Type. 


OTHMAR. 

By “ OUIDA.” 

Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, No. 639. 

PRlCd 20 CEWXSc 


^■or sale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage prepaid, 
receipt of price, 20 cents. Address 

GEORGE MUNBO, Munro’s PuMishingr House, 

P. O. BOXS75L 17 to Vande water Street, N. Y# 

I ■ . ..■■Il.l.. ■■ ■■! I . - I — . .I.,... I 1.. . I .11,. I ,. » ■ 

HOW EEADT— Beautifully Bound in Oloth-PRICE 60 CENTS. 

A NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION 

OF THAT MOST DELIGHTFUL OF CHILDREN’S STORIES, 

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. 

By LEWIS CARROLL, 

Autlior of “ Through the Looking-Glass,” etc. 

With Forty-two Beautiful Illustrations by John Tenniel. 

The most delicious and taking nonsense for children ever written. A 
book to be read by all mothers to their little ones. It makes them dance 
with delight. Everybody enjoys the fun of this charming writer for the 
nursery. 

THIS NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION, BOUND IN CLOTH, PRICE 60 CENTS 
IS PRINTED IN LARGE, HANDSOME, READABLE TYPE 

WITH ALL THE ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS < 

OF THE EXPENSIVE ENGLISH EDITION. 


i§ieiit by ]Ifa,il on Receipt of* 50 CentSo 


Address GBORGE MUNRO. Munro’s Publishing House, 

Bj)x 3751> 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New Yom 




MUKRO'S PUBLTOATIOlSrS. 


The Philosophy of Whist. 

Alf ESSAY ON THE SCIENTIFIC AND INTELLECTUAL 
ASPECTS OF THE MODERN GAME. 

IN TWO PARTS. 

e^ABT L~-THE PHILOSOPHY OF WHIST PLAY. 

Part II.-THE PHILOSOPHY OF WHIST PROBABILITIBR 

By WILLIAM POLE, 

Mus. Doo. OxoN. 

Fellow op the Royal Societies of I.-ondon and Edinburgh; 

One op the Examiners in the University op London; 

Knight op the Japanese Imperial Order op the Rising Sun. 

I^omplete in Seaside Library (Pocket Edition), No. 669. 

PRINTED IN LARGE, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE. 

PUICK 20 CENXS. 

For sale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage prepaid, on 
receipt of the price, 20 cents. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro's Publishing House, 

?. O. Box 5.51. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. 


Munro's Dialopes and Speakers. 


PRICE 10 CENTS EACH, 


These books embrace a series of Dialogues and Speeches, all new and 
origir J, a: d are just what is needed to give spice and merriment to Social 
Parties, Home Entertainments, Debating Societies, School Recitations, Ama* 
I .Mir Theatricals, etc. They contain Irish, German, Negro, Yankee, and, in 
fact, all kinds of Dialogues and Speeches. The following are the titles of the 
books * 

No. 1. Tlio Fiiiiiiy Fellow’s Dialogues. 

No, 2. The Clemeuce and Donkey Dialogues. 

No. 3. Mrs. Smith’s Boarders* Dialogiiesr 

No. 4. Schoolboys’ Comic Dialogues. 


No. 1. Vot I Know ’Bout Crriiel Societies Speaker. 

No. *2, Tli^' John B. Go-off' Comic Speaker. 

Ifo. 3. My Boy Vilhelm’s Speaker. 

The above titles express, in a slight degree, the contents of the booisi^ 
^rhich are conceded to b- th^ best series ->f mirth-provoking Speeches and 
Dialogues extant. Price 10 cents each. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

P, Oi 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New Yorb 


OLD SLEUTH LIBRARY. 

ISSUED MOriTHUU, 


A Series of the Most Thrilling Detective Stories Ever Pnblished 


NO. PRICK 

1 Old Sleuth the Detective 10c 

2 The King of the Detectives 10c 

3 Old Sleuth’s Triumph. First half. 10c 

3 Old Sleuth’s Triumph. Second half. 10c 

4 Under a Million Disguises 10c 

5 Night Scenes in New York 10c 

6 Old Electricity, the Lightning Detective 10c 

7 The Shadow Detective. First half 10c 

7 The Shadow Detective. Second half. 10c 

8 Red-Light Will, the River Detective 10c 

9 Iron Burgess, the Government Detective 10c 

10 The Brigands of New York 10c 

11 Tracked by a Ventriloquist 10c 

12 The Twin Detectives IQc 

13 The French Detective 10c 

14 Billy Wayne, the St. Louis Detective 10c 

15 The New York Detective 10c 

16 O’Neil McDarragh, the Irish Detective 10c 

37 Old Sleuth in Harness Again 10c 

18 The Lady Detective 10c 

19 The Yankee Detective 10c 

20 The Fastest Boy in New York iOc 

21 Black Raven, the Georgia Detective 10c 

22 Night-Hawk, the Mounted Detective 10c 

23 The Gypsy Detective 10c 

24 The Mysteries and Miseries of New York 10c 

25 Old Terrible 10c 

26 The Smugglers of New York Bay 10c 

27 Manfred, the Magic Trick Detective 10c 

28 Mura, the Western Lady Detective 10c 

29 Monsieur Armand ; or, The French Detective in New 

York 10c 

30 Lady Kate, the Dashing Female Detective. First half 10c 

30 Lady Kate, the Dashing Female Detective. Second half 10c 

31 Hamud, the Detective. 10c 

32 The Giant Detective in France. First half 10c 

32 The Giant Detective in France. Second halj 10c 

33 The American Detective in Russia 10c 

34 The Dutch Detective 10c 


The Publisher will send any of the above works by mail, 
postage prepaid, on receipt of the price, 10 cents each. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, llunro’s Publishing House, 

17 to 27 Van(|ewater St. and 45 to 53 Rose St., New York. 


P. O. Box 3751. 


MUNBO'S PUBLICATIONS. 


LADY BRANKSMERE. 

By ‘^THE duchess." 

PRINTED IN LARGE, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE 
Complete in Seaside Library (Pocket Edition), No. 733. 

PR£C;£: 20 CENTS. 


For sale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage prepaid, on 
receipt of the price, 20 cents, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro's Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vande water Street, New York, 


SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION), NO. 745. 

FOR ANOTHER’S SIN; 

OR, 

A STRUGGLE FOR LOVE. 

By GHABLOTTE M. BBAEME, 

Author of “ Dora Thome.''' 

PRINTED IN LARGE, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE. 


PRICG SO CENTS. 


For gale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage prepaid, on 
receipt of the price, 20 cents, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751, 17 to 27 Vande water Street, New York 


HUNTEBS’ YARN 



A COLLECTION OP 


Wild and Amsing Adventures: 


COMPRISING 


THRILLING BATTLES WITH INDIANS, TER- 
RIFIC ENCOUNTERS WITH SERPENTS 
AND ALLIGATORS, LONG SWIMS, 
RACES FOR LIFE, WONDERFUL 
FISH AND GHOST STORIES, 

Etc., Etc., Etc., 

As Related by Hunters to tlieir Compan- 
ions Arovind the Camp-flre. 


This book is beyond question the best publication of its class that 
has yet appeared. It is a neat volume of one hundred pages, closely 
printed matter, all original, and embraces many side-splitting jokes and 
yarns of the ever-ready and sharp-witted trapper and hunter. 


price: «5 CEIVTS. 


For sale by all Newsdealers, or sent to any address on receipt of the prieo 
^ cents, postage prepaid, by the publisher. Address 


GEORGE MUNRO, 


Munro's Publishing House, 


e. O. Box 3751. 


17 to 27 Vande water Street, N 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


FHE SEASIDE LIBRARY 

ORDINARY EDITION. 


GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishinsr Housei 


The following works contained in The Seaside Library, Ordinary Edition, 
lire for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage Ti-ee,;, 
on receipt of the price, by the publisher. Parties ordering by mail will please 
s rder by numbers. 


MRS. ALEXANDER'S WORKS. 

80 Her Dearest Foe 20 

86 The Wooing O’t 20 

46 The Heritage of Langdale . . . . . . 20 

370 Ralph Wilton’s Weird. ... e. .. 10 

400 Which Shall it Be?. 20 

532 Maid, Wife, or W idow. , 10 

1231 The Freres. ......... c ... .o c .... 20 

1259 Valerie’s Fate 10 

1391 Look Before You Leap 20 

A502 The Australian Aunt. 10 

^'595 The Admiral’s Ward. 20 

f 721 The Executor 20 

?> 4 Mrs. Yereker’s Courier Maid. ....... 3 10 

WILLIAM BLACK’S WORKS. 

18 A Princess of Thule 20 

28 A Daughter of Heth. . ^ 10 

47 In Silk Attire .... 10 

48 The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. 1C 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Ed^ion. 


63 The Monafch of Mincing Lane 10 

79 Madcap Violet (small type). ... 10 

604 Madcap Violet (large type) 20 

242 The Three Feathers 10 

890 The Marriage of Moira Fergus, and The Maid of Killeena. 10 

417 Macleod of Dare 20 

451 Lady Silverdale's Sweetheart 10 

568 Green Pastures and Piccadilly 10 

816 White Wings: A Yachting Komance. 10 

826 Oliver Goldsmith 10 

950 Sunrise: A Story of These Times 20 

^025 The Pupil of Aurelius 10 

1082 That Beautiful Wretch. 10 

1161 The Four MacNicols 10 

1264 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P., in the Highlands 10 

1429 An Adventure in Thule. A Story for Young People 10 

1556 Shandon Bells 20 

1688 Yolande 20 

1893 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love Affairs and other Advent- 
ures 20 

MISS M. E. BRADDON^S WORKS, 

26 Aurora Floyd 20 

69 To the Bitter End 20 

89 The Lovels of Arden - 20 

95 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

109 Eleanor’s Victory 20 

114 Darrell Markham 10 

140 The Lady Lisle 10 

171 Hostages to Fortune 20 

190 Henry Dunbar 20 

215 Birds of Prey 20 

285 An Open Verdict 20 

251 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

254 The Octoroon 10 

260 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

287 Leighton Grange 10 

295 Lost for Love 20 

322 Dead-Sea Fruit 2^ 

459 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

469 Rupert Godwin — ID 


THE SEASIDE LTBEAUY. -—Ordinary Edition. 


481 Vixen ; 26 

482 The Cloven Foot 20 

600 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

519 Weavers and Weft 10 

525 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

539 A Strange World 20 

550 Fenton’s Quest 20 

562 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

572 The Lady’s Mile 20 

579 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

581 Only a Woman (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

619 Taken at the Flood 20 

641 Only a Clod 20 

649 Publicans and Sinners 20 

656 (George Caulfield’s Journey 10 

665 The Shadow in the Corner 10 

666 Bound to John Company; or, Kobert Ainsleigh , 20 

701 Barbara ; or, Splendid Misery 20 

705 Put to the Test (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

734 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daughter. Part 1 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part II 20 

811 Dudley Carleon 10 

828 The Fatal Marriage 1(1 

837 Just as I Am; or, A Living Lie 20 

942 Asphodel 20 

1154 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

1265 Mount Royal 20 

1469 Flower and Weed 10 

1553 The Golden Calf 20 

1638 A Hasty Marriage (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

1715 Phantom Fortune 20 

1736 Under the Red Flag 10 

1877 An Ishmaelite 26 

1915 The Mistletoe Bough. Christmas, 1884 (Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon) 20 

CHARLOTTE, EMILY, AND ANNE BRONTE’S WORKS. 

3 Jane Eyre (in small type) 10 

396 Jane Eyre (in bold, handsome type) 20 

162 Shirley 20 

3U The Professor 


THE SEASIDE LIBBABY. — Ordinary Edition. 


329 Wuthering Heights 10 

438 Vi lie tie 20 

967 The Tenant of Wildfell Hall 20 

1098 Agnes Grey 20 

LUCY BAND ALL COMFORT’S WORKS. 

495 Claire’s Love-Life 10 

552 Love at Saratoga 20 

672 Eve, The Factory Girl 20 

716 Black Bell 20 

854 Corisande 20 

907 Three Sewing Girls 20 

> 019 His First Love 20 

1133 Nina; or, The Mystery of Love 20 

U92 Vendetta; or, The Southern Heiress 20 

1254 Wild and Wilful 20 

1533 Elfrida; or, A Young Girl’s Love-Story 20 

1709 Love and Jealousy (illustrated) 20 

1810 Married for Money (illustrated) 20 

1 829 Only Mattie Garland 20 

1830 Lottie and Victorine ; or, Working their Own Way 20 

1834 Jewel, the Heiress. A Girl’s Love Story 20 

1861 Love at Long Branch; or, Inez Merivale’s Fortunes 20 

WILKIE COLLINS’ WORKS. 

10 The Woman in White 20 

14 The Dead Secret 20 

22 Man and Wife 20 

32 The Queen of Hearts 20 

38 Antonina ...» 20 

42 Hide-and-Seek 20 

76 The New Magdalen 10 

94 The Law and The Lady 20 

180 Armadale 20 

191 My Lady’s Money 10 

225 The Two Destinies 10 

250 No Name 20 

286 After Dark 10 

409. The Haunted Hotel 10 

433 A Shocking Story 

487 A Rogue’s Life 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Ordinary EdMion. 


551 The Yellow Mask 1(1 

583 Fallen Leaves 20 

554 Poor Miss Finch 20 

675 The Moonstone 20 

326 Jezebel’s Daughter 20 

713 The Captain’s Last Love 10 

721 Basil 20 

745 The Magic Spectacles 10 

905 Duel in Herne Wood 16 

928 Who Killed Zebedee? 10 

971 The Frozen Deep 10 

990 The BLok Robe 20 

1164 Your Money or Your Life 10 

1544 Heart and Science. A Story of the Present Time 20 

1770 Love’s Random Shot - 10 

1856 ‘a S^y No” 20 

J. FENIMORE COOPER’S WORKS. 

222 Last of the Mohicans 20 

224 The Deerslayer 20 

226 The Pathfinder 20 

229 The Pioneers 20 

231 The Prairie 20 

233 The Pilot 20 

585 The Water Witch 20 

590 Tlie Two Admirals 20 

615 The Red Rover 20 

761 Wing-and'Wing 20 

940 The Spy 20 

1066 The Wyandotte 20 

1257 Afloat and Ashore. 20 

1262 Miles Wallingford (Sequel to “Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

1569 The Headsman; or, The Abbaye des Yignerons 20 

1605 The Monikins 20 

1661 The Heidenmauer; or. The Benedictines. A Legend of 

the Rhine 20 

1691 The Crater; or, Vulcan’s Peak. A Tale of the Pacific 20 

CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

20 The Old Curiosity Shop 20 

100 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

102 Hard Times. - 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY,— Ordinary EMion, 


il8 Great Expectations 26 

187 David Copperfield 20 

300 Nicholas Nickleby 20 

213 Barnaby Budge 20 

218 Dombey and Son 20 

239 No Thoroughfare (Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins) . , . . 10 

247 Martin Chuzzlewit 20 

272 The Cricket on the Hearth 10 

284 Oliver Twist 20 

289 A Christmas Carol 10 

297 The Haunted Man * 10 

304 Little Dorrit 20 

308 The Chimes 10 

317 The Battle of Life 10 

325 Our Mutual Friend 20 

337 Bleak House 20 

352 Pickwick Papers 20 

359 Somebody’s Luggage 10 

307 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings 10 

372 Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices 10 

375 Mugby Junction 10 

403 Tom Tiddler’s Ground 10 

498 The Uncommercial Traveler 20 

521 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

625 Sketches by Boz 20 

639 Sketches of Young Couples 10 

827 The Mudfog Papers, &c 10 

860 The Mystery of Edwin Drood 20 

900 Pictures From Italy 10 

1411 A Child’s History of England 20 

1464 The Picnic Papers 20 

1558 Three Detective Anecdotes, and Other Sketches 10 

WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF ‘^DORA THORNE.” 

449 More Bitter than Death 10 

618 Madolin’s Lover 20 

656 A Golden Dawn. 10 

678 A Dead Heart 10 

718 Lord Lynne’s Choice; or, True Love Never Runs Smooth. 10 

746 Which Loved Him Best 2<i 

846 Dora Thorne 20 

f21 At War with Herself. 




= 

THE 

New York Fashion Bazar. 

THE BEST AMERICAN HOME MAGAZINE. 

Price 35 Cents Per Copy: $5.00 Per Year. 


All yearly subscribers on our list on the first of December will be 
entitled to a beautiful chromo, entitled: 

“ HAPPY AS A KING.” 

The New York Fashion Bazar is a magazine for ladies. It 
contains everything which a lady’s magazine ought to contain. 
The fashions in dress which it publishes are new and reliable. Par- 
ticular attention is devoted to fashions for children of all ages. Its 
plates and descriptions will assist every lady in the preparation of 
her wardrobe, both in making new dresses and remodeling old ones. 
The fashions are derived from the best houses and are always prac- 
tical as well as new and tasteful. 

Every lady reader of The New York Fashion Bazar can make 
her own dresses with the aid of Munro’s Bazar Patterns. These are 
carefully cut to measure and pinned into the perfect semblance of the 
garment. They are useful in altering old as well as in making new 
clothing. 

The Bazar Embroidery Supplements form an important part of 
the magazine. Fancy work is carefully described and illustrated, 
and new patterns given in every number. 

All household matters are fully and interestingly treated. Home 
information, decoration, personal gossip, correspondence, and recipes 
for cooking have each a department. 

Among its regular contributors are Mary Cecil Hay, ‘‘ The Duch- 
ess,” author of “ Molly Bawn,” Lucy Randall Comfort, Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of ‘‘Dora Thorne,” Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 
and Mary E. Bryan. 

The stories published in The New York Fashion Bazar are the 
best that can be had. 

GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 TO 27 Vandewater Street, N Y. 


THE CELEBRATED 



GRAND, SQUARE AND UPRIGHT PIANOS. 


FUST PRIZE 

DIPLOMA. 

Centennial Exnibl- 
tion, 1876; Montreal, 
1881 and 1882. 

Tne enviable po- 
sition Sohmer & 
Co. hold among 
American Piano 
Manufacturers is 
solely due to the 
merits of their in- 
struments. 



They are used 
in Conservato- 
ries, Schools and 
Seminaries, on ac- 
count of their su- 
perior tone and 
unequaled dura- 
bility. 

The SOHMER 
Piano is a special 
favorite with the 
leading musicians 
and critics. 


ARE AT PRESENT THE MOST POPUEAR 

AND PREFERRED BY THE LEADING ARTISTS. 

SOHniER & CO., Manufacturers, No, 149 to 153 E. 14tU Street, N. Y. 


6,000 MILES 

OIF 

RAILROAD 



THE BEST 

IIT 

THE WORLD 


IT TRAVEBSE8 THE MOST DESIRABLE PORTIONS OP 

ILLINOIS, IOWA, NEBRASKA, WISCONSIN, MINNESOTA, 
DAKOTA AND NORTHERN MICHIGAN. 


THE POPULAR SHORT LINE 


BETWEEN 

CHICAGO, MILWAUKEE, MADISON, ST. PAUL, 

OMAHA, COUNCIL BLUFFS, DENVER, 

PORTLAND, OREGON, 

AND Alili POINTS IN THE WEST AND NORTHWEST. 


MINNEAPOLIS, 
SAN FRANCISCO, 


FAIACE ^ SLEEPING ' CARS, < PALATIAL ^ DINING « GARS 

AND SUPERB DAY COACHES ON THROUGH TRAINS. 


Close connections in Union depots with branch and connecting lines 


ALL AGENTS SELL TICKETS VIA THE NORTH-WESTERN. 

New York Office, 409 Broadway. Chicago Office, 62 Clark St. Denver Office, 8 TVindsor Hotel Block. 

Boston Office, 6 State Street. Omaha Office, 1411 Farnam St. San Francisco Office, 2 New Montgomery St. 

Minneapolis Ofiice, 13 Nicollet House. St. Paul Office, 159 E. Third St. Milwaukee Office, 102 Wisconsfu Street. 


R . S. H A I R, General Passensrer Acrent, CHICAGO, ILL. 

■ ■ ' ' — 




































\ 




* 


« 


/ 





% 




. 1 , , 

t 


/ 

I 








V' 




















>£> . 

TB:' 



J’.L^ 

'>!> 


s:^ 















